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.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Part Two

Read this Part One

"Sometimes in the still of the night , when no one is there to comfort me I can hear him panting. I can hear him roaring beside my ear. I can feel him sweating. No-one to reassure me that my time as a heroin addict is over, all but a fading memory ...
"They" come to get me. The nightmares about "close-calls" start to flourish beyond the pink cresents of my eyelids. Pink blurred into red - into blood. Images of Pain. Images of raw lust. A nameless face ...I lay awake in a silent scream so enraptured in lurid technicolour - this story plays out once again. ".........


WG and I are now dressed and awaiting the arrival of The Client. Working as an escort always seemed to be about time. A delicate balance of preserving time or milking it for every contemptible moment.Time spent waiting. Time spent fucking. Maybe if you can afford it - Time to be yourself. Not the other identity with the other name and make-believe past.

The motel room we were staying in, however much scrubbed, maintained a bedraggled persona like its weary inhabitants tired from overnight travel , yet the atmosphere seemed to sympathize.
We did not have much, thesedays. Most of our electrical goods and other personal items had been pawned for drugs or money to get a motel room to live in. They were just "things" I suppose. I wish I had some of those "things" now though. Hindsight is a sweet thing isn't it?

The motel room was overpriced for the starkness it delivered. An abundance of muddy brown carpet and faded tea roses everywhere I looked. Frugal furnishings ( if you could call them that) crouch upon the stained carpet, which is worn and torn in certain places, a winding threadbare path to the bathrooms and dingy kitchenette. A sad kinda place. Trying to make it seem homely was not easy. But we tried our best. We had a few meagre ornaments and decorations that we took with us to every new "home", photos of family and friends. WG collected porcelain clowns and I smiled as she lined them up along the headboard. How many times have I watched this ritual , I mused. Some of the clowns she had since she was a baby. They were very special.
She took those damn clowns everywhere with her and I didn't mind putting up with those crazy smiling creatures if they made her feel like she had a home. I did not mind at all.

We lit some candles and shared a cigarette to pass the moment. We lay on this bed together, arms entwined and legs resting on each other's. Exhale. We both were tense, this job had to go through. Once the client had left for the night we would be better. Maybe then we would get high and order Chinese? My Treat!
Otherwise, we were fucked. I didn't even want to think how we would get money if this did not come through - it was getting late now and I was not up for a night cold turkey on the highway. We both were coming down pretty hard so the smoke tasted terrible and smelt worse.
"I want to get better and go back to university , for real this time" Wg spoke with such conviction, desperately trying to overcome how destructive we had become to each other, before it overcome her. I kissed away her concerns.
"Me too, Baby" I closed my eyes, waiting for a tear to birth from it - yet nothing came. I was fifty thousand years old now. Spent . Used. Over?
I remember when I was at university and everything was sweet.
I remember being in the top percentage of class. I remember but I don't believe.
I will do it for you, I will do it for anyone but myself. For I am my own worst enemy. Porcelain tears that I cry so often , smash and I can't collect them, they just explode upon touch. Oh Wg, I'm so sad lately that I cannot cry and that makes me sad indeed. I want to go shopping with you and try on dresses, I don't want to see men inside you and inside that mind. Not that I judge you. Not that you can judge me, either. I want to play pedicure and I want to feed you chocolate. I don't want to see you sting. I don't want to watch you get sore anymore. I want to see you with clothes on. I just want you to mean more, than the drugs do.
But , a slight glimmer of hope is that I remember who I was - do you ?
Tell me that it is not a dream ? Please baby please. But I say none of this as I rest my head in her lap and she rubs my back anti-clockwise and the minutes pass by in the other direction on the clock. Tick Tock. Late Cock. We just sit in pensive silence.
I want to be clean. Sometimes I still want the arms around me. Sometimes I am glad, that I left you behind. Sometimes I don't even think I ever wanted heroin. Just love.

We had grown so close in character as we acted out our unpalatable existence in front of each other. The Ex and WG had failed to see each other as worthy of each other's time and consequently she had finally convinced me to leave him and be with her. We flirted with each other, but essentially I was not pursuing a relationship exclusively with a female, so the flames of passion ignited and quietly smoldered between us. It was sweet and she was uninhibited , so why not experiment? She felt so good and soft. She felt safe and sympathetic to this nightmare , so the affection became consolatory for the hardness we had formed around our hearts, buried somewhere beneath something. I play with her hair and think these sweet easy things until I hear a brusque knock on the hollow door. This is him.

Together we smooth over the duvet and readjust our immediate geography, making it all the more alluring and agreeable to a exclusive client of this caliber. A thousand dollars each could mean a lot of things. It was our long shot at leaving the scene. To packing up the car and leaving behind the tourists and their sweaty palms. Leaving behind stained sheets, scarred arms and scattered dreams. To be simple, it was the job we had been waiting for. The final job.

The candles flicker wildly as the door is open and his well built frame , leans on the doorway. I was unaccustomed to feeling this capricious in the presence of a client, most of the others I knew personally and we enjoyed a decent level of intimacy.
It was not him though that I feared, it was the power his money held over my hopes ofgetting better and he dangled it like a carrot in front of us. He came into the room like a stalking panther. My mouth was dry and it hurt when I swallowed. My clothes felt not right and neither did my stomach. I am sure he could sense our desperateness, and if he did, he was going to leave. Junkie Whores. I check my reflection. I was like a doll and my eyes did not bely the lack of sincerity I felt towards him. He was, in a word, replusive.

I smiled warmly, in spite of myself and took a step forward into the candlelight. I was not certain that I could earn the big dollars, but hey I would try it on.
(I won't bore you with the opening pleasantries nor the pre-requiste ego stroking, other bloggers capture conversations much better and punctuate it correctly to boot. )
Instinctively though, as only a sex worker can, I summized the sexual transaction progress with this complete stranger, I sensed something was immediately was wrong. The Client was syrupy enough yet not forthcoming with any money. I reminded him gently as he reached under my skirt (for the tenth time) that he would have to pay before procuring the goods. I struggled for control, albeit only very briefly, and he would press on with his diatribe about how "women" just couldn't relax and whores never stopped worrying about getting their money rather than be nice to somebody. Exchange of looks between the working girls now. Worried Ones.
No more gentle chiding. This guy was either going to pay - or get out. I put on a robe. This is the signal. WG lights another ciggarette and lets out an audible sigh. In the first minute both WG and I have identified this "client" as a time waster. Disappointment , like no other. To add insult to injury he is impervious to the fact that since he has "booked" us for the majority of the night we have no more clients to arranged.

Hands, Hands, Hands. He is follwing me around the room, trying to get a glimpse inside my robe. Got to get him out. Fast. This ain't cool.
I know, from experience, that WG wants a cancellation fee regardless, I know she will not let him leave without him at least leaving some kind of reimbursment for pissing us around
and I sense the situation is going to get "ugly". He is not going to pay a thousand dollars. I knew this the minute I laid my eyes on him. How I wish I never did now.
But she is desperate to get anything for anything. Not a good place to be , I suppose.

The Client is ethnic, Greek it seems, his long and wavy hair slicked back with gel, a stray greasy strand obscuring his blackish eyes that hold no warmth only taunt and tease. His hairy hands gesture in the air throwing off a random sparkle with his numerous gold rings wedged on his fat fingers. He reeks of cologne and over confidence. At first he leans back on the chair , thrusting forward his crotch into the space then he leans in hungrily, and I ask him quite firmly - to leave. "Don't think I won't call the police!" I bluff professionally. I try to soften this with a smile.

The WG is putting her clothes back on in resignation after she removed them earlier, hoping to swing things forward and entice The Client to stay and play nice. She is so patient. I think she feels sorry for him. Bastard. She is too good for you.
I turn my back on him to physically stop myself from lunging at him with a butter knife resting on the bench. His face registers a look of bemused disgust, giving away to a time halting response.

"I am a policeman and you are under arrest for prostitution"

Not a sound. My back was turned so he did not see the colour drain from my face. I dare not turn around. I cannot believe my ears. I cannot quiet my mind. He is still fucking talking to me.
I don't want to be in this room right now. I am floating away. I am .. in danger. It rushed out in a palpable wave through my arms and legs. But I was stuck to the one spot. There was no running. Suddenly, just when I thought maybe I had a chance of winning, of getting that money and getting off the junk, I was down - shot in the back. I am bleeding within and I am coming to a close. What more could I live for if it was on my record? Forever? This wasn't The "Game" anymore, it was real and I was going to jail - Jail? Me? But I don't want to hurt anybody.

He reads us our rights.

"This is a bust - We have been watching you two..(searches for a word) girls - for months now, hooking together outside of an agency is a crime therfore you are going to be arrested and charged and this will be on your permanent record. I have been waiting all day to nail you little whores. I've been sitting outside this fleabag motel. I have seen everything. I bet if I did a search right now, I would find some interesting things ?"
Your goddamn right you would motherfucker. Just make sure you watch where you put your hands, I don't think I put away my last syringe - want to take a chance with me fuckface?
Of course I didn't say any of that. I just cried and cried and cried. I became so hysterical, lost in a downward spiral of shame and sadness, that I could not support my legs and I crashed to the floor, the itchy brown carpet softening with my futile tears. He did not flinch. Just kept smiling, that horrible pirate smile.

Just get some clothes on, start to go into defense mode. Hide the heroin. OMG. The Heroin.

WG stepped in for a moment of clarification.
"Do you have a badge?" "How do we know your a cop?" He produced a badge, and I looked at it like it sprouted wings and promptly resumed crying. Then, I sobered my resolve to get out of this and approached him at the table.
Me: "I don't believe your a policeman"
Him:" Fine *****, Let's go down to the station and you can meet my friends"
Me: "I still don't think you are, you are way too creepy."
Him: "Your going down so I don't really care - save it"
WG: What do you want from us? She starts to weep.
Him: What are your names?
Both: #### & ##### ( we did not dare lie)
He produces a notepad and starts to question us. This is a very sad moment for us. We are both dressed now and our makeup is streaked down our pasty faces. I am twenty one soon. This is not what I had planned for my life?
I put it all on the line.

"Ok - You are right. What we are doing though is not making millions , we are hardly a professional outfit. Look at us - I pleaded - I mean really look at how skinny we are, how sick we look. We are barely alive, and we do this to survive. I'm sorry if that makes you squirm, but that is life. We are doing all that we can, all that we know works. Look at us and be sad for us. We are sick. We are hooked on drugs. We are young. What you could do in the next 15 minutes is ruin our lives forever. I beg you and I will beg you forever to change your mind, if you walk away - you will never see us or hear from us again. We will get clean, this is what we need - I am starting to sob as I believe myself and I want to believe that he could to, but I think he is not listening. I fear his heart is closed. He wants the bust. He wants something, because he has not pounced on me with those strong hands and taken me to the lock up. I search his eyes to see what he wants - but I don't need to as he averts his gaze while he tells us both.

"Ok, well I just want to fuck you both then. Then , I will leave" He is deadly calm. Athough, I do note that his forehead is a throbbing and pulsing a patchwork of purple veins. The idea of giving it to us, swells his penis in anticipation. He rubs his crotch and his eyes rake over my body, not quite seeing the fightened mouse cowering in a corner.
My eyes well with tears.
This is not happening?

I am stung not by the request to have sex with me (for no charge) itself, but his open refute of my earnest plea to take mercy on our souls. Now, that stung. I would never tell him this though. I would never want him to see me cry again. He loves being a monster. Although he was a policeman, he was also very happy to misuse his authority and have us spread our legs "for justice's sake". No more tears. You won't see me cry anymore.
Now he was going to ruin us in another way.
He was going to rape me. Then he was going to rape my friend. In front of each other and he could do this without anyone hearing our screams. He savoured the moment and lunged for us on the bed. Why Me ? "How could you do this ? " I look to him and plead with all I have. I want him to show me that he is going to regret this.
"Because I can. " He drags me over to the bed and wrestles me out of the robe.

You then underestimate then fool for even though we can open our bodies we are not easy, you better believe it. We may be hard but we aint easy.

You're going to have to take us screaming, crying and kicking.
He nearly did. I loved WG and this was the last time I saw her.
As he went to straddle me, she sensed that I was about to seriously murder this guy. My face was white as a sheet and flashbacks of my childhood resurfaced with gut wrenching pace. I am not a robot. But yet I cannot move.
'If you thrust your dick in me, you are very game indeed." I thought aloud. Then I exploded.

"I can't do this" I heaved. I knew my sanity swung precariously in the tension between us.
"If you fucking touch me, I swear you will regret it. I cannot promise you that I will not go insane before your very eyes. I cannot promise you that I will not break you and I will not endanger your life. You will have to kill me first. I cannot have sex against my will -my strength broke as I told him something I didn't want scum like him to know - I was abused as a child."
I was deadly serious, the time for idle threats was over . It was game on. He told WG to turn the music up.
He sized me up with those mean little calculating eyes. I felt dirty. How much I hated this man. How much I wanted to slice of his penis. My eyes flashed with anger. I didn't seem worth the trouble to him I think. As scared as I was that he was a cop, he had now breeched the law as well so I actually felt slightly on the level for the first time in a very sweaty ten minutes.
We were on the same side of the coin now, at least. Breathe. You are smarter than him.
I can do this. I can save us both. I got her into this profession. I know that she couldn't handle it either. She acted tough on the outside, she played the role of a slut with relish, but deep down, we were just young kids.

WG spoke to the room. " Somebody has to fuck him or we are going to get busted ok?"

" Fuck me and hurry up." Her tone was dejected and monotone. Her eyes vacant. She positioned her rear in front of him and pulled her panties down. Her hands were shaking but
she had "already left the building". Tears stream down my face as I shake my head over and over.
"Leave her alone" she says. She beckons him over by wiggling her ass in the air.
He drops my wrists with disdain and I rub them part relieved part reluctant. The guilt I feel at this moment is life changing. Then, without a moment to recollect his rampage, he reefs down his slacks and throws my darling, her face down on the bed - quiet now - and submissive to his negligence. He is big and she is small. She is gentle . He is cruel.
I am frozen, I don't want to watch this. "Please no - I try to scream and the music is blaring and he is entering her. She winces in pain as he takes her roughly, scrunching her breasts and pulling her head back. She forces a smile from the side of her face and I stay beside her.
I could run. I could go tell someone. But I can't leave my friend. I will be here for her.
I will be a witness. I see that he has a superman tatoo on his hipbone. I look for other evidence that I can use to say he was here. To make someone believe this does happen. Including me.
"Your a fucking gorgeous little honey" as he licks her back, trolling his sloppy tounge along her face. She is shivering as he rocks her with each steadfast thrust, she clutches my hand. I cannot look. It doesn't matter if he spared me, I felt everything through her white knuckled grip.
I wanted all the pain to drain from her to me, yet she would not release it unto me, she took it all as only she could, and she smiled weakly to me as my tears splashed onto her below.
He grunted and came inside her. As he violated her with his hot semen it cracked her and she began to cry, and only then did he pull out and wipe his penis on the bed.
"Get the fuck out of here" I found my voice. I was shaking, mad as hell and in more ways than well. The WG curled into a foetal position.
"Gettt the fuckout of here you fucking cunt" I spat.
He understood. He knew. We all knew. It was a distinct moment that we only have as animals.
And so he retreated, his tail between his legs , the carcasses slaughtered behind him.
As she howled into my arms as we heard him run down the street, I rocked her back and forward in my arms all the while, until I could not hear him anymore. Until she stopped screaming .
Looking on from above were the clowns, now smashed and only broken smiles could be made out from the shattered skulls.
So I go to my cupboard and get out the heroin. She wipes away her tears as only heroin can. I will let her go first tonight. Without a further wasted word , we go into the bathroom.

To Be Cont.

Feel free to leave a comment about how this memoir made you feel and why you think you felt it. Alternatively, you can email me your feedback heroinegirl@hushmail.com

Thanking you always,


crassy boy said...

Breath in, out, in, out. You are leaving me at the edge of my bed. but that is the best and only way. Continue when you are comfortable. :>

HeroineGirl said...

OK now everyone can leave a comment. Fixed.
I am sooooooooo clevererer.

Hee Hee

deanne said...

HG, you write incredibly well. Very captivating, even if the subject matter does reveal the uglier side of life unfortunately. Reliving memories can be hard, I hope you're okay. Time to bookmark you into my favourites I think.
x. d

Trish said...

While never a sex worker myself, either by choice or necessity, I have had a close call similar to your story (through some stupid choices of my own doing - long story) and the fear and anger that invoked has never left me. You captured it well...

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