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.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Junkie Whore

Sometimes I am caught thinking about people that I would like to see again, now that I am finally off the junk. I think about the people that helped me, the motel cleaners, doctors, shopkeepers and other junkies that slipped me a smile, kind word or a sliver of hope or two. These kind folk made a difference to me. I feel it would be nice to go back and give thanks. Then they are always other people whom I'd like to revisit for revenge purposes. People that did the wrong thing by me and enjoyed it. Just because when I was hopelessly lost - it was easy to judge or unleash pent-up hatred on someone that was already a prime candidate for low self-esteem. Therefore, they knew I would give them the least struggle. From ivory towers they would label and pummel us further into hoplessness as it made them feel better about themselves and their own choices, for all that is worth. Copping shit about being a junkie whore came with the territory . I'm not complaining about it because I know that my situation is one that only I really need to understand. I'm saying I would love to compare my life with those people now, and take them on with a clearer head. Examine their life and question their decisions. When you walk past these people, they like to stare and whisper. They might call you junkie whore to your face ( but usually behind your back) – and they don’t have the right to. I can – but not them.
They don’t even know the true meaning in the way that I do.

But you can't change people yeah ?
Nope, people are unpredictable so I just live for the people that I love. People that love me unconditionally,they don't have conditions or reservations yet they are not dissapointed. I love to shine for them as like most humans I am spurred on by love, not hate.
Hate is an ugly fact of life and it will never go away for me.
Never. Oh well, plenty of memoirs to come from it..

Memoir


I met Jake when he placed an outcall booking, he was ordinary looking and greeted me at the door, his grubby hands smoking a joint, and his face seemed aged beyond its years with hostility and cruelty. Jake looked me up and down for what seemed many moments, then he invited me inside with an obligatory grunt. He beckoned me into the crowded lounge room, supposedly so I could entertain him and several of his stoned mates, whose eyes raked over my body when I entered. I felt my heart skip a few beats. This arrangement was totally unbeknown to me. Of course, I didn’t ever see more than one client at a time, and so the appointment ended rather abruptly. I didn’t like him from the get go- he seemed arrogant and assuming that I would be up for double penetration just because I was a working girl. I didn’t feel bad either and maintained my stature; doing all of his surfie mates was never on the menu yet his tone was menacing and drunkenly hostile. He called me all kinds of names and tried to hold my wrists. Frightened, I instinctively felt that I was in immediate danger so I fled the house and kept the money for my troubles. I ran all the way home.

When the Ex and I moved to a Miami motel a few months later, I was very surprised to see that Jake actually lived in the complex a few doors down. I often saw him stride out of the block of units that were crammed with students and unemployed and jump into his Jeep. One afternoon, I saw him walking down the path that borders the highway, holding hands with his attractive girlfriend. She looked about sixteen and as she walked past me, she laughed loudly and said “Junkie Sluts, wish they wouldn’t work out the front of my fucking house.” I felt my cheeks flame red as I searched Jake’s face for recognition but it remained frozen and etched into a scowl. I was expecting nothing less. Embarrassed, I shuffled further down the path and started to dread the return of the angry couple. Many times, they would call the police or some afternoons they would just pelt us with rotten fruit. The residents of the complex would holler, “That we were spreading Aids how could we live with ourselves’’ This managed to frighten away some of the more ‘discreet’ customers but most of the time they just drove around the corner, slipping me a sidelong glance. They tried to outdo each other with flaming insults, AIDS and diseased slut taunts became tougher, so we too became more resilient to the namecalling. People shouted as they drove past in cars, and a couple of girls were even run over in the confusion. Tensions ran high, they wanted to clean up the neighborhood, yet this was all we ever knew. Clients knew this was the easiest place to get laid, and it was. Police tried to stop us but then gave up. It was easier to just turn the other way and clean it up when the brass was in town. Wait until it got too bad. No one works at Miami now. We all cleaned up or died. It was Fifty-Fifty.

But back then, we couldn’t leave even if we wanted to( and we all had dreams) we tried other places yet we always were forced to return to Miami. The younger girls and I just had to become more ingenious in our dealings; we managed rather well as it's all about survival. It didn’t matter if it was boys or girls, the block of units hated the highway hookers and visa versa. Through sheer luck and paranoia on my behalf, I somehow managed to avoid being charged with soliciting, the whole time. Unfortunately, many younger girls were not as fortunate, spending a couple of terrifying weeks in jail on unpaid warrants. Even though I wanted to bail them out, I wanted to get high more. But we understood that’s how it is.

I knew the risks involved with what I was doing, but the Glitter Strip was excellent for money; an addiction itself. I’d only have to wait about ten minutes on a good day, for a businessman or electrician to pull over, then we would screech off to behind the soccer club, or if another hooker was already there, to another place behind Bond Uni. About four girls worked the highway and we divided it into sections. Sky was my friend and I had a huge crush on her. She was 17 and a princess, very popular on the stretch. We often worked together, pooling our clients as she also lived at the motel. The older ladies were forced to wait until after midnight to knock off, but most of the younger girls could be over and done with by dinner. We had rosters and even chatted with each other, scoring dope and bitching about our freeloading boyfriends. We worked Xmases and birthdays, New Years and every day left behind.

It was Tuesday afternoon, I was painting my toenails “Peach Kisses” on the asphalt entrance to the Motel when I felt a shadow , a shape of cool , blocking out the orange sun. I glance up and see Jake’s girlfriend looking down with a curious glance. She sits beside me and I resume painting my toenails with feigned indifference, it was important to not let her sense I was afraid of her. She started to open up to me about Jake and she confessed about how he hit her often, sometimes to a bloody pulp. He liked to smoke weed and make fun of her in front of his mates. Jodie, (that was her name I remember it now) started to really cry and she clung on to my skin, as I was only wearing a bikini. I had finished one foot already, but my stomach was churning so much that I paused and looked at her. She had deep amber eyes and they looked so sad and angry. I stopped myself for only the briefest moments and then spoke to her directly.

“Look Jo, I hate to tell you this, I really do – but you can’t go back to him. He is dangerous and he will Kill you. I know this.’ I started on the second foot before she attacked me with her teenage barrage of questions. I was tired of the drama. She bemoaned more and more about how she had left him and I should tell her what I had heard. Part of me wanted to help her, parted of me just wanted her to keep crying and looking pathetic.
However, my patience waned before my compassion and I blurted out the story. I told her that I had slept with her boyfriend. She asked me a lot of questions and I assured her that it was long before he met her. She asked for dates and I did not know. She smiled and hugged me, she said that although she didn’t like that I was a highway hooker, that I was a bit alright. I smiled weakly but I did not feel any sincerity behind her chatter.
I described the house and more importantly I described to her the anger I felt every time he walked past and called me an aids carrier. I felt angry because I could see in his eyes that he remembered me. I would get hurt and ashamed and he loved it – but I never had revealed his secret – until now. I feel oddly calm. Jodie started to paint her nails as well and asked me questions about being a prostitute. Wasn’t I scared that I would get Aids? I explained to her that working girls usually enforce stricter health precautions than “others” engaging in sexual acts. She seemed to be drifting over to a place of understanding, but she always remained queasy with the thought of this. Without warning and with a half painted foot, she suddenly remembered she had something urgent to do and left.
Dusting off the grit from my bottom, I watched Jodie run down the path and disappear into the gates of the “straight” complex. In the pit of my stomach I felt something was wrong, yet maybe it was just rumblings of hunger ? The ex called me inside and I told him about the new friend I made. I was gabbering on so much, he had to settle me down so he could slide the needle safely under my skin. The heroin seeped into my soul quickly and my face was aflame with satisfaction. I reclined back on the bed and began to finish the story. I confessed to the Ex, who also knew, that I had told Jodie the real truth about her ex-boyfriend. The ex was mortified and I began to panic.

'Oh my god. You have no fucking idea do you?'

The Ex looked at me disappointed yet not surprised. My mouth got us into trouble all the time.
"What ? She has changed !! " I countered, smiling meekly from across the bed.
“ I felt sorry for her, you should’ve seen how bad she felt for leaving him” I picked at my trackmark where a new scab was forming.
The Ex was not convinced and quickly shot his gear into his arm, paying me only half his attention. He waited a moment then resumed his lecture, his voice croaked and his eyes world weary.
"You have no fucking idea do you Princess ?”

There was nothing more I could say to refute this, so I just blushed.

As I watched the words spring from his lips, glass shattered over my face in slow motions. I jumped from my bed as a brick hurtled through the window and rolled across the room. The air was cramped with immediate panic ; I heard awful shouting and endless banging on our door to Room 15. We threw the needles under the bed and tried not to scream. Luckily we had the door shut and we fastened the locks tight. The door was being thumped by something human on the other side. Magnificent force rattled the rusted hinges, it was only a matter of time before it splintered and revealed our huddled haplessness. Was it the Police? The Landlord? We switched off the light and huddled in the breathy silence. All we heard was screaming and violence outside. I knew that person would get me.
We squeezed each others hands and kept deathly quiet – hoping they would leave. I felt his heart beating through the thin fabric and he held my hand to his lips and kissed away my trembles.

“You’re gonna die you Junkie Slut !!” More smashing of glass.
The tone meant business. The silhouette reeked of alcohol, then swayed on it’s feet as it leant in through the smashed window. We tried to hide, but he knew I was in there and wasn’t going anywhere.
I knew the voice instantly. How could I forget it ?
It was Jake and he wanted my blood.
The Ex put a finger to my lips, and we stayed quiet. We pressed our faces into the carpet but we could still hear deranged screaming for outside the door.
Then we heard he started screaming about Heroin Junkies, to my landlord and the people in the motel, that had gathered around this drama. I knew that we would be evicted over this. I felt my unbridled rage hiss between my teeth, I couldn’t take it anymore I was so over this bastard ! I sprung to my feet enraged and hovered near the window. I have never seen a more psychotic man. My eyes were flashing with adrenalin and I shook with fear but I confronted him anyway.
“What !” I shook my head with frustration and it rippled alongside my words.
My scream became hysterical and shrill. I made a choking sobbing sound when he reached through the shards of glass to try towards me. Suddenly, I felt very cornered and very unsafe. The Ex was not a fighter. At all. He had been beaten once very badly and I knew that he could not withstand another beating again.

“I want you to come with me, we are going to finish this shit once and for all you junkie slut." He kept trying to reach into the window and The Ex held me back from picking up the glass and shredding his throat.
"As if I would be with you. Fucking whore."
He spat on me. I feared my life but I feared this terror more. No one would really care if I died. I knew it and so did he. The landlord was looking on from above the balcony, safe up there. He didn't want to get involved. I screamed for someone to call the police. I told them to do it or someone might get hurt.
No one did. even though everyone gathered around knew how seriously things had progressed. Regardless, everyone was really, really, frightened to intervene and I knew that I would have to end this, once and for all.
I opened the door, resigned to my fate. The fear was unbearable and I wanted some relief.

To Be Continued.

I guess you will have to tune in for tommorows episode... sorry !
I will be doing more memoirs with this serial format as they are quite long !
I know it sucks that I pause it here - but I am sure that smaller posts will be better format for reading pleasure - overall.
Some of my posts have been 6000 words. Crazy !
See you tommorow ;)

5 comments:

Michael said...

up late crafting an entry, I see. just as i imagined.

:)

Kicking Bitch said...

No! Awww, to be continued! Crap. Oh well. I'm up way passed my bedtime. See you later, darling! Mwah!

Doom/Blondie said...

Astonishing! Wow! I cannot wait to hear the rest of this. I wonder if Amazon.co.uk will let me pre-order the full version?

Well done and regards from London

x

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