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“An eye-opening, astonishing, honest and funny collection from those who really have lived on the edge in a parallel universe… Unpretentious and riveting, their tales are also graphic, politically incorrect and mostly unquotable in this newspaper.”

Toni Bentley, NY Times

by Tracy Quan

Mothers who sell sex for a living face a whole different style of life-work balance. From dealing with judgmental teachers to faking orgasms before the kids get home from school, Tracy Quan on the difficulties of living a double life.
What’s the worst thing you could say about a person’s mother? Everyone seems to agree that Dez Bryant had a right to be offended when an NFL executive, vetting Bryant for a draft, asked him if his mom was a prostitute.
I see no reason to make assumptions about Bryant’s mom, and I’m glad the NFL apologized, but the fact remains that there are many children in the world for whom the true answer is yes.
Zoe Hansen, a writer and former prostitute raising a child with her husband in Manhattan’s East Village, has her own maternal take on this.

“If someone asking my son if his mother was a whore is the worst possible thing that happens to him, I’ll consider him extremely fortunate and my job well done,” she says. And yet, Zoe doesn’t feel that her 7 year old is ready to learn about reproduction, and she wants to protect him from the facts of her own life “so he can be a child for as long as
possible.”

Read the full article here.

It was almost one a.m. I’d seen five clients and was satisfied with my earnings. My eyes lazily focused on a shaggy haired client sitting slouched in our ‘hot-seat.’ Adrenaline surged through my body. I looked to my left. Dani raised her painted eyebrow in a ‘he’s mine’ look. On my right Desiree jabbed me in the ribs. I whispered “shush.” We all stood there thinking the same thing: “Damn, this man is hot!” We sometimes made remarks about a handsome man, but not often. I liked the way his jeans were tight around thick muscular thighs. Under a mop of golden brown hair he had dark eyes, a prominent nose and a chiseled jaw. He made me nervous.

Dani was first. She pushed her surgeon bought breasts out and used a very Marilyn Monroe-esque voice I’d never heard before.

“Oh… Sorry, me first? OOP’.… Ok then, (giggle giggle) Helloo I’m Daniella.” She smiled a very none Dani coquettish smile. I rolled my eyes. He nodded his head at Dani and grinned. The client was sitting forward with his arm sticking up and bent at the elbow, fist on thigh. Very masculine pose. I could feel the women all exhale together. He was clearly comfortable. Not at all nervous, unlike most the men who sat in that chair.

‘Please God not me I dont want him. It’s too embarrassing to fuck a guy I might see out in my neighborhood, someone I know I’d date. Please God let someone else make the money, don’t let him pick me.’

“Hello there, I’m Desiree…” She waved with the tips of her fingers and licked her lips. He grinned, bemused. Jennifer said,

“Hi there… what’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

“I’m Jennifer! So nice to meet you…. Eddie.” He shifted in his seat and nodded.

My turn. He was just way too cute. My face felt hot. I stood staring at the wall behind him, the floor, anything but him, or that’s what I tried to make him think. Of course I stole quick glances. I took a deep breath.

“I’m Lizzy.” And looked away. I didn’t smile or look into his eyes, on purpose. Then without skipping a beat he stood up and said.

“ Ok Lizzy, lets go.” I knew it! Damn. Whenever I say hello as though I couldn’t give a shit, they pick me.

We walked out of the room together. Dani mouthed “You bitch!” and smiled phonily.

I took the lead walking ahead of him, aware he was looking at my ass. I worried he was going to have me swinging from the chandelier. Not that we had a chandelier, but it was an expression I heard the women use when talking about difficult sessions. Usually young hot men tried hard to prove something. First that they didn’t need to pay for it, like we cared. Second they can make a whore come. Third they can fuck like a jack hammer for an entire hour. Which for a professional like myself is unnecessary, unsexy, and boring as hell. Then to top it all off, they never tipped. If they did it was ten dollars, which was a total insult. Because these young men actually thought they were doing us a favor. After we had to fake an orgasm to stop the endless rapid penetration, they believed that making us come was tip enough. Needless to say young hot guys are not dream clients.

When we reached Room Three I switched on the red light, which made little difference in the small dark room. I found it difficult to look at him directly, like a teenager on a first date.

I slowly removed my clothing (possibly describe it here – JB) I usually ripped it off in three seconds, which was good enough for the pleasant older gentlemen. I stretched the process out as though I didn’t do this ten times a day, carefully popping the snaps down the front of my mini skirt, then laying it down on the chair. I sucked in my stomach and discreetly pulled up my thong to go over my hips, which makes my legs look even longer. He smiled, enjoying the show.

I thought about subjects to talk about, and asked what he did for a living. He told me he owned a construction firm in Jersey, and lived in a new house he’d just built. I acted impressed. Truth is, I was but not really that much. I watched him pull his T-shirt and tight jeans off. I didn’t see a wedding ring. I don’t know why I was looking for a wedding band, who cares what this man/client did in his life, why the hell did I care? His body was solid, thick muscles with soft skin and hardly any body hair. He probably spends too much time in the gym. That’s no good. If he was always in the gym, I’d never see him, I continued to crazily muse. I’d never had a boyfriend who was in good shape or even remotely cared about health. They’d all been musicians and junkie-artists of some sort. Anyway what the hell am I thinking? Stupid. I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to block out these ridiculous feelings.

“So, err how often do you work out…?” I asked, trying hard to sound offhanded and cool.

“You can call me Eddie.” He smiled a crooked half smile. He looked directly into my eyes.

“You’re really gorgeous” he continued. I felt a hot flush and went bright red. He got a devilish smile and softly touched my cheek, then leaned forward and kissed me. I never kiss clients, but he smelt like baby powder and his lips felt good. I melted, I’d never felt this before with a client. His body ground into mine, we fit so perfectly, our bodies matched.

My mind drifted into dreamland. I saw us together, telling friends… “You’ll never believe how we met…” I imagined us holding hands strolling through the city, then returning to a big open loft space that flooded with sunlight every morning. Laying in bed together we’d complain about too much sun, and smile as we held each other closely and began our day making love. I felt his rippled muscles, firm shoulders and arms that would hold me so protectively. I would never feel vulnerable again.

His mouth devoured mine, and I responded. I never closed my eyes with a client, but this time, I did. His skin felt so different to the sixty year old men I was used to. The ones I felt comfortable with. I saw a bulge in his y fronts. I felt a tingle up the back of my neck and in my breasts, while my crotch ached.

“Oh Lizzy, here’s your money.” He bent down to his crumpled jeans on the floor, fished into his pocket and pulled out three hundred dollars. He tossed the money onto the dresser and looked at me. I felt embarrassed at accepting the money. What was wrong with me? I usually leapt at the money.

I ran my hand over his six pack stomach and into his underwear. His cock was hard, he sighed when I touched him. He pushed me down onto the bed and gently licked my clit. I moaned and tried to stay somewhat in control, keeping my cool. I ran my fingers through his shaggy hair as he continued to dive me crazy.

What the hell, would it really matter if I got off with this client? I did have a boyfriend I loved more than anything. We had good sex, not as often as we used to, but that wasn’t my fault. It was his increasingly large alcohol problem that had put a damper on it. Yet I had never cheated on him. It would be cheating if I enjoyed this session. In my mind I hadn’t cheated yet, because work sex is so totally different to real passionate sex.

I was lying back on the bed when I heard him rip open a condom as he rammed his thick cock into me. It was perfect. I was on the edge of coming. As he thrust into me he rubbed my clit with his thumb. I looked up at him, his face concentrated, sweat appeared around his brow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. I felt my muscles contract around his cock as he kept fucking me.

In the background, there was some yelling or arguing coming from down the hall. I opened my eyes. It sounded near. It wasn’t coming from out in the street. Who the hell was that? Nina would be really pissed if she knew the girls were fighting and yelling. Why isn’t the phone girl telling them to be quiet? He continued ramming his cock into me, oblivious, slamming into me harder and harder, with more focus. Then I heard heavy footsteps stamping up and down the stairs. Must be some argument. Oh well, I’ll hear about it later I’m sure… I could tell by Eddie’s face that he was just about to come when… the door flew open…

WHAT THE… Fuck…?? My first thought was anger, at some bitch bursting into a room clearly in use. Then confusion. Naked, sweaty and in a somewhat dreamy state I bolted upright.

Eddie grabbed for a towel on the chair.

“YOU! Get the fuck up and put some clothes on, NOW!” A short man yelled at me. Eddie was on the other side of the room, already throwing his shirt back on.

I looked at the badge swinging on a chain around this man’s neck. Everything went into slow motion. I was in shock. I reached for my bra and underwear, trying to cover myself up with my hands. Another undercover came into the room… I saw Eddie walk towards the door zipping his fly.

“Eddie I’m…I’m so so sorry…this rarely… umm…happens…” I tried to explain as he walked away.

I was so unbelievably embarrassed. I was certain these middle aged policemen were looking at me thinking ‘Thank god this isn’t my daughter.’ Where the hell did her parents go wrong?’ I wanted to explain myself to them. I’m actually a really nice, smart, rather prudish young woman. This is all my parents fault. They were Middle class people who believed it was better to let a child find their own way at all cost, than coddle the child. I’m not a nasty disease ridden slob.. I’m not I’m not….The words were trapped inside my head, unable to find their way out of my mouth as the dirty disapproving looks of the lawmen hurt me. Surely they misunderstood. But my mind switched back to Eddie. Poor guy. Now he’ll never come back here again. Damn, I was gonna lose him. I felt so sorry for him, would he get into trouble with the cops now?

I was getting dressed as I overheard a couple of cops joke about catching Bob in the middle of getting his dick wet. I assumed they were talking about their undercover. That’s how they get into the house. They send an undercover in as a regular customer, gather evidence that money was offered for sex, and bust everybody.

Poor girl, whoever was with Bob. I must have already been upstairs with Eddie when Bob the cop came up to choose one of the girls.

Eddie was standing at the doorway talking one of the cops. Oh, they’re probably questioning him. I felt guilty, as though all this was my fault.

I was led downstairs by a female cop.

When I got to the living room all the girls were sitting squashed together on the couch looking mighty upset and angry. Fifi, the phone girl, looked terrified. I could understand, the phone girl has it the worst. She could be the one charged with promoting and pandering, which means serious jail time.

I wanted to know who the undercover was with. It had to have been Dani. She stands out so much it would be just like her to get picked by the cop, Oh poor Dani. I squeezed in next to her at the end of the couch.

The place suddenly filled up with cops. They were everywhere, going through our belongings, searching drawers and closets. Some came into the living room holding up our clothing, or boxes of condoms and lube. A few dildos fell out of a bag. One cop asked what it was. “Your sister left it here!” Dani yelled. It would have been funny, but at that moment nothing was funny. Some of the male cops were enjoying the process of photographing items for evidence. I don’t know why our clothing was so fascinating.

This was just part of the game. We came to expect being busted every six months or so. They kept asking where the safe and owner were. They didn’t even seem to know who Nina was. That proved we weren’t under investigation or in real trouble. It was strictly a routine raid.

After an hour of questions and detectives running around, I suddenly spotted Eddie walking casually into the living room with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. What the hell was he still doing here? The cops had let the clients on the premises go a long time ago… Oh I know, he forgot something…He hadn’t said goodbye in all the confusion…I stared at him. Then got a huge adrenaline rush. The sound in the room disappeared and everything got fuzzy…Why the hell was my client holding handcuffs? I stared at him, but the coward wouldn’t look at me.

Oh my god! I froze. Eddie my dream man, was a fucking cop! I must have gone ghost white. I couldn’t breath,…Dani shook my arm and asked if I was all right?

“Lizzy… isn’t that your client?” She whispered. I didn’t answer.

“ Eddie…Eddie! Hey you…EDDIE” I yelled.

A few cops looked at me then Eddie finally looked up, shrugged his shoulders and pursed his luscious lips tightly together and looked at the ground. The same lips that were just kissing me. I couldn’t believe it. He had been the undercover, a dirty cop got to make out with me. To think I had been fantasizing about having him as a boyfriend. Half an hour later I he was locking me up. I felt used and betrayed, disgusting and completely humiliated. I wanted an explanation from him. Of course he owed me nothing, but then again we’d had a connection hadn’t we?

After what seemed like all night but was really only three hours we were handcuffed together in a long line. We all maneuvered down the stairs, which is harder than you think when eight women are tied together. I was the first one leading our glamorous little chain gang. I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Neighborhood people gathered all around to watch. It was the second humiliating experience of the night. The sweet old Hispanic man from the candy store on the corner where I bought cigarettes and snacks everyday was watching. I lowered my head like guilty people do on TV when being shuffled into court. We were put into an unmarked police car and taken downtown to the Tombs.

The lights from the new condos along FDR Drive made me feel strangely sad and insecure. People who lived safe regular lives were oblivious to us whizzing past their homes on our way to jail. Families tucked away in their warm beds, children sleeping. These were pure lives, safe lives. I felt sorry for myself. What would my father think if he knew I was being thrown into the Tombs? He might just shrug his shoulders, in that English way of stuffing emotion, or give me on of those terrifying piercing looks. His eyes scared the shit out of me, his glare cut through me like a knife. I shuddered, shaking his face from my mind. When I opened my eyes the car clock in front of me read 3:33 a.m.

I was exhausted, we all were. By the time we were processed, fingerprinted, and put into a freezing cell it was five a.m.

The Tombs was New York’s (? Fact here – oldest prison, most commonly used, something like that), a mass of winding old corridors, full of stop offs or check points. We were told to walk on the right side of a middle line painted on the cement floor. The walls were tiled in a strange green color I have rarely seen, a murky industrial blah color. There were long lines of males waiting to be booked. The men were mostly black, except for a couple of Hispanic men. We had to stand fifty feet away from them.

A thin wooden bench rimmed our quarters. In the corner a half wall provided some privacy for the dirty toilet. Most of the benches were taken up by sleeping women. I was amazed, they seemed quite comfortable just falling dead asleep in this cold cell. Most looked like crack heads. They’d probably been up for days on a run, so the rest was likely welcomed.

I saw a mat on the floor and grabbed it, thinking how lucky I was to have found a mat and not have to balance myself precariously on the wooden bench. As I lay my head down I immediately sat bolt upright. I could smell the distinct odor of piss. I jumped up and kicked the mat away.

“Ugh! That mat has piss on it, disgusting.” Dani moved over so I could squeeze in next to her.

I zoned out watching the TV on the other side of the bars flicker early morning news shows.

Flashes of bright and cheery newscasters talked about new expensive gadgets available for Christmas. The week’s weather was rolled out with the promised of extra cold chills in the air. I studied the giddy weather girl, dressed down in a sensible blouse. I wonder if she thought about the women who were locked up a mile from their climate controlled studios. I doubt it, why should she. Had she ever thought about selling her golden pussy for money? Never.

I felt sorry for myself. I had no one to turn to. My family were in London and I hadn’t had them in my life for what seemed like forever. I looked around at the women laying in my cell. On my left was Katrina, trying to sleep sitting up like the rest of us. On my right, Dani who half winked at me. That wink made me feel comfortable and protected. She moved my head onto her shoulder. I closed my eyes. The harsh florescent lights buzzed and hummed.

My mind raced over the night’s events. I replayed seeing Eddie in the doorway of the living room with handcuffs in his hands. How could he be so cold? I have sex for money, no emotions involved, and the one time I let my guard down a tiny bit I end up getting locked up by the guy. I couldn’t possibly rest with my mind whirling around, buzzing with anger. I had been humiliated and played for a fool. I never thought of myself as a stupid women. I didn’t make outright stupid decisions. But I felt like the stupidest female alive at that point. I decided to never tell anyone about what had happened in that room.

The guards woke us with the noise of their keys. A male prisoner came into our cell with a tray. His eyes were lowered. We all stared at him. He was a handsome well built muscular black man. Katrina asked him for matches. We had been allowed to bring in cigarettes but not a lighter. The guard reminded him not to speak to us. After he’d placed a tray of small milk cartons and white bread baloney sanwhiches down on a bench, he threw a small book of matches into a corner by my feet. Katrina whispered ‘Thank-you.’ I really appreciated him taking that unselfish risk for us. We were all in the same boat, all prisoners. Except I would be getting out in a few hours and he had an extended stay.

The large female cop stood jingling her keys at the door looking at the T.V. Her uniform was really tight. She had bright red lipstick on her thick lips, and wore her hair in one of those styled sculptures that came down over one eye. She looked like she was dressed up as a stripper cop.

By nine a.m. the morning TV crew was wishing New York a wonderful happy-go-lucky day and we’d been given stale baloney white bread sandwiches. Our lawyer came to speak to us through the bars. We were all going to be given a desk appearance ticket and were free to go. We’d get charged with disorderly conduct, and the record would be sealed after one year. Provided we didn’t get into any more trouble.

Five of us were let out together. When that door was unlocked, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath of polluted city air. It never smelled so damn fresh and good. Across the street was a city park with make shift homeless tents set up in a little community. A billow of smoke wafted into the air from a hot dog cart. The smell of burning sausages lead me across the street and I ordered a well done dog with loads of ketchup, mustard, and relish. I’d forgotten how hungry I was, I had skipped the baloney.

I went home in a cab feeling filthy dirty. I took a long hot bath and went to bed for the day. I felt like pampering myself. I ate Lucky Charms cereal, followed by a bar of Cadburys milk chocolate. It was hard to find in this country, but one of the Indian grocery stores on First Avenue stocked a few bars that I promptly snapped up.

I told Johnny that we’d been busted, and that I had been working the phones when I was taken down with the rest of the women. I always told him a version of my life, just not that I was actually sleeping with men for money. It would have broken him completely. I was doing this for us, for him. He had no way of supporting us both, or even himself. I loved him so much, I never wanted to imagine a moment without Johnny in my life. We ordered up Chinese food, watched TV together, and he drank.

I got a call from Nina at about eleven p.m. telling me she would be back at work in the morning and would I be coming in? Of course I would. A bust was hardly enough to make me quit. In fact I knew that the cops would leave us alone for some time now. This was a good time to make money, as some of the women would be too scared to come back, I could take their clients.

Laying in our loft bed, I stared at the shadows on the wall. I still couldn’t get Eddie out of my mind. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. I imagined running into him somewhere on the street. We would lock eyes as I briskly pushed past him, dressed in a fabulous high collared black coat, wearing the pointiest stiletto boats. He would stop dead in his tracks recalling the night he stooped so low as to have sex with me and lock me up. He would be riddled with guilt as he’d watch me stride off into the distance, my heels clickety clacking on the sidewalk.

I drifted off to sleep beside Johnny. I dreamt of being married to a nice blue collar guy who had rough hands and a rugged face. The dream felt comforting and real. I was saddened when I woke in the morning to hear Johnny in the kitchen pouring his first large vodka of the day.

The Lady is a Pimp

Once a girl is in, there are a few strategies that can set her apart‚ – as well as one that’s truly golden‚ – be cause looks aren’t the only key to success as a highly paid prostitute. “The girls come into a room to meet the clients. If a girl kisses a guy, if she’s affectionate and acts like a girlfriend, then she’s got what it takes,” Dyana says. “The ditsy act does really well too. Men love the bubbly ones.”

Read the whole interview here.

“Lizzy, your eight o’clock is here. Room three. Hurry.” Ingrid yelled from the office.

I’d been lounging in the living room with the other women. I stubbed my cigarette out and pulled myself up from the couch

“On my way up now.” I yelled back.

I had been prepared for Sidney Glick, a client of the house who favored domme sessions. We had never met. Ingrid had directed him to me as I was the only girl on schedule who didn’t mind doing dominance sessions. I lunged up the stairs two at a time in my six-inch heels to the third floor. I knocked on the door and walked in, morphing into Mistress.

“Hello Sidney.” I began softly. “You’ll call me Mistress. You will only look at me when I allow it.” Sidney was a small unassuming gray-haired man in his sixties. He had developed a slight hunch from years of hard work, and frail bony arms hung loosely by his side. It was easier for him to look at the ground as his neck had stiffened, but he lifted his head with a strain and his blue eyes smiled.

“Sidney, what can I do for you tonight?” That was my opening line. I tried my best to act sexy, superior and as stern as I possibly could. I also wanted to obtain as much information from Sid, so I could turn myself into exactly what he wanted.

“I’d like it if you could use the cuffs to restrain my arms behind my back. I-I-I’d like to be b- b– blindfolded.” His mouth watered, his eyes got glassy, and he rubbed his lips together. “So you want me to restrain you?” I asked with some hesitation. “And blindfold you. Then what?”

“Well… if you c-c—could….”

“Call me a filthy Jew pig. A good-for-nothing animal. That I should be gassed and slaughtered, thrown away with all the other filthy Jew pigs.”I was not a professional Domme. I was a whore. When a client called requesting a light dominance session, there was no reason to send him away. I had been trained by a lifestyle domme years ago. She had given me a starter kit of corsets, whips, paddles handcuffs, and enough education on how to give good humiliation, fantasy, and enemas. It was a welcome break in a day of fucking and sucking. I had done seven sessions yesterday; my body ached from staying in awkward positions for long periods. If I could make money and not fuck for an hour, I was thrilled.

Sid sat hands in his lap, head bowed, on the edge of the bed.

“Talk to me,” I ordered.

“Well um err… can I look at you Mistress?” Sid stuttered.

“…Yes.” I smiled. I must stop smiling.

“Oh, you r- r- really are a pretty one, aren’t you?”

I stood in my six-inch black patent leather, thigh high boots, my legs spread a foot apart. Hands fisted and resting on my cinched waist. I enjoyed the height; it made me confident in my role as a sadistic dominatrix. Looking down my nose at the old man in front of me. I began to feel extremely sexy.

“Go ahead, Sidney. Describe what would you like me to do today. What’s your dream?”

“Well, I-I… I….” He said, looking away from me. Why was he so nervous? He got up and said matter-of-factly, “I want you to call me a filthy little Jew bastard!”

He looked directly into my eyes to see my reaction. I tried to have none, but I was certainly thrown off my cool demeanor momentarily. I could see his mouth starting to tremble. His small eyes glistened.

“Call me a filthy Jew pig. A good-for-nothing animal. That I should be gassed and slaughtered, thrown away with all the other filthy Jew pigs.”

What the fuck!… Wow! OK. Now I was shocked.

Still I tried not to show any reaction. I had learnt that clients often wanted to shock or upset a girl. That’s part of their whole trip. The scenario they have created and mulled over for some time was so bottled up that they wanted a reaction, just like the pervs who flash their penises on the street. They want to shock. But I didn’t think Sid was going through this to shock me. I believed he was simply describing what he wanted from our session.

“Get your clothes off!” I ordered through clenched teeth.

Sid got up from the edge of the bed. He slowly removed his clothes and folded his shirt and pants and put them on the chair. He was wearing a white undershirt,and boxer shorts with black socks.

I nervously walked over to him, not quite sure how to begin our session; I would have to make it up as I went along, to improvise the whole show. But as I had done on my very first outcall, I slipped into an alter ego. Like my name, none of this was real; it was all made up. That realization somehow made me comfortable.

Sid’s head was bowed the entire time. I couldn’t tell if he was aroused or not, but he seemed to enjoy my roughness. He was so old and frail. I didn’t really enjoy treating a man of his age this way. It was way too easy to hurt him.“OK, PIG.” I began. “You’re a nasty little bastard, aren’t you?”

Then there was silence. My mind raced as I flushed with nerves and embarrassment.

I leaned over just enough that Sid could see up my short skirt to my exposed buttocks and heard him inhale sharply. Once I knew he was watching me it gave me something to discipline him about.

“Who told you to look at my ass? Did you hear me, you little shit?” I yelled.

That sounded a bit weak. ‘Little shit’ certainly wasn’t severe enough. I leaned over and put down the paddle I was holding. While doing so I passed my unbuttoned cleavage under Sid’s nose. When I saw him looking at my breasts, I grabbed the cuffs that were on the bed and yanked his arms behind his back.

“Who gave you permission to look at my breasts? you vile, pathetic piece of dirt.” That’s a little better. The word vile sounded good. I liked that word.

I yanked on his brittle arms and cuffed them.

Sid’s head was bowed the entire time. I couldn’t tell if he was aroused or not, but he seemed to enjoy my roughness. He was so old and frail. I didn’t really enjoy treating a man of his age this way. It was way too easy to hurt him.

“Now say it…call me a filthy Jew pig,” he whispered. His eyes focused on the floor.

I had done domme sessions before and at the client’s request humiliated them, peed on them, tied them up and whipped them till they bled. But the anti-Semitic names seemed so sick, it seemed so…demented.

“YOU DISGUSTING… FILTHY…Jew…PIG!” There I said it. I said the whole sentence with conviction, but I lowered my tone when I said the word Jew. I wondered if anyone heard me outside in the hall.

I took long strides around Sid, secretly admiring the way a few inches of skin showed between the boots and my leather mini skir in the mirror opposite the bed. I was buying time before my next move.

I raised one leg onto the small night stand so Sid could catch a glimpse of my crotch and my white girlish underwear.

“Do you want to get blindfolded, YOU FILTHY JEW …err…PIG?”

Again I tested the words. Okay, now I’ve said it twice.

Where else could he fulfill this fantasy? It wasn’t as though he could go home to his wife after a hard days’ work and say, “Honey, lets play this little game… where I’m a dirty Jew fuck. And you’re a Nazi bitch….”“Yes p-p-please.” Sid said, as eager as if I’d asked if he wanted a glass of lemonade.

I blindfolded Sid and looked at him as he stood in his white underclothes. Where else could he fulfill this fantasy? It wasn’t as though he could go home to his wife after a hard days’ work and say, “Honey, lets play this little game… where I’m a dirty Jew fuck. And you’re a Nazi bitch….” I smiled to myself at the thought.

That’s why prostitutes exist. We actually serve a very necessary purpose. I had a vision of myself standing on a stage in Stockholm accepting a Nobel Peace Prize: “For my kind benevolent service in helping tricks,… err,… johns, umm… men, feel fulfilled, complete and whole. Thank-you everyone who has made this day possible.” I saw myself thanking my mother, my father, my aunt Millie. I began thinking of all the friends who I would thank, if I were ever in a position to accept an award. It’s good to have these things prepared. But my parents would be listed just for appearance’s sake, as they had nothing to do with my impending success.

The scene in my head almost made me giggle. Sid was blindfolded so he couldn’t see me entertaining myself. I made a mental note to tell my coworkers about my thoughts on prostitution being a noted, worthwhile humanitarian endeavor.

I got into doing exactly what Sid wanted. He was paying for a service, and I was going to give him the best humiliation I could. This was his dream; this was my job.

I guided Sid to a chair, sat down, and told him to lay across my lap.

“Because you’re a disobedient piece of garbage, and waste of my time, I need to teach you a lesson. You need a good hard spanking.” I said through clenched teeth.

His muscles tensed as I tried to balance his weight on my lap. I looked at his bony buttocks through his striped boxers. The whole scene was becoming comical to me, but for Sid he was in the midst of his fantasy: being belittled, made fun of, and humiliated.

I needed to make sure a spanking was something he wanted without blowing the role I was playing.

“So you disgusting piece of shit, do you want me to spank you?

“Yes please.” he said again. “But please don’t leave any marks.”

I felt awful hitting such a frail old man with a paddle. It was used for serious spankings and stung like hell, so I started off with some light taps. He didn’t seem to really feel them, and whispered for me to spank harder so I put some more muscle into it. It left a red patch on his skin, but he seemed to be enjoying it.

“More,” he said, quietly.

“You’re a piece of SHIT,” I yelled. “And you deserve this punishment because—you’re a JEW. A LOUSY STINKING JEW.” Whew!

In England,we still hold World War II close. My father taught us to dislike Germans for what they did to us, Europe and the Jews. This session brought about mixed feelings. Being told to call this small frail man such anti-Semitic names. Was I wrong in doing as I was told? Should I have refused the session?I watched Sid feel his way around the floor blindfolded. I couldn’t help but like him. His manner and the way he spoke to me led me to believe he was a gentle, sweet, bright man. He had probably been a good father and provider for his family. I imagined a handful of grown children and even more grandchildren, and was certain they loved and cared about him.

I hoped I was right.

I was an emotional person. I felt for other people, I often felt their pain. But the words, it was the words that I was being asked to say that were so…bizarre and revolting.

I didn’t confess to Sid that I too was a Jew. My mother’s mother was a Brooklyn Jew who married a handsome Mexican. So my mother is a Jew, making me one too. I was brought up as a Protestant who did some time in a Catholic convent school as a child. So I’m a screwed-up, non-religious Jew. But the blood runs thick. I am a member of the tribe.

In England,we still hold World War II close. My father taught us to dislike Germans for what they did to us, Europe and the Jews. This session brought about mixed feelings. Being told to call this small frail man such anti-Semitic names. Was I wrong in doing as I was told? Should I have refused the session?

“Sidney, come here, you pathetic, smelly, little scum-bag Jew bitch.” Wow! I was getting used to these words and it surprised me to see how easily they came tumbling from my lips. It made me cringe. But I was honestly beginning to enjoy the freedom to say things that I had never dreamed of uttering.

“I know you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be… because you’re a dirty, FILTHY JEW… you cunt BITCH! I don’t want you thinking about my breasts or my ass. Got it Jew? Bitch, filthy cunt JEWBOY!” Had I gone overboard? was I hurting his feelings? Oh God, I hoped I hadn’t gone too far with that last bit. I knelt down next to Sid so he could feel my presence and he could smell my faint perfume. I put my face right up to his and pulled his blindfold off.

His nostrils flared and his worn, pale blue eyes got a spark of fire in them. It was an intense moment as we sat nose to nose looking at each other. I saw so much behind those tired eyes.

He touched himself.

“I don’t remember you asking permission to do that,” I said calmly and quietly. “Now you Jew fuck, I’m forced to spank your unworthy filthy Jewboy ass!”

He began breathing a little harder. His penis pushed against his underwear.

“Relieve yourself, you nasty Jew, because… I wouldn’t ever dream of touching you, because… YOU’RE A FILTHY LITTLE JEW BASTARD!”

“Ahhh, yes, Mistress yes…” Sid’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Slowly!” I yelled. “Now stop! You fuck!” This was fun.

“Please Mistress, please…I beg you…” I could see his tension building; his sexual excitement turned me on. The power.

“Say it…” Sid whispered.

“You disgust me because…YOU’RE A FILTHY FUCKING CUNT JEW…”

“OOO Mis…tress… ahhhhh… ahhh… ahh… Sid slipped to his knees as he came, barely touching himself at all. The words had apparently been enough.

Just at that moment the bell rang, ending the hour. I stood up without saying a word and went out to the bathroom at the end of the long dark hall, leaving Sid alone. It was good to get out of the stuffy, claustrophobic room.

Kiki, a petite, dark-skinned woman with a tough street demeanor, walked from her session next door to the bathroom with me. We hadn’t talked before, and I was surprised when she spoke to me.

“How you like the old man?” She asked in her deep, raspy voice with a heavy Hispanic accent. Kiki squatted over the toilet bowl and peed.

“Fine, sweet old guy, I guess.” I replied as pleasantly as possible. “A bit weird,” I added.

“Yeah, but he easy,” she said. “We could do with more of them Sidneys up in this bitch.” Kiki wiped herself and flushed the toilet.

I’d seen men who I liked, and hated, but I was always able to put them into a part of my mind where I didn’t think about them after their money was in my hand and they were out the door. But Sidney, he had broken through my thick wall of protection, he’d touched me and I felt him. I hoped those watery blue eyes wouldn’t haunt me.I looked into the mirror studying myself. I couldn’t get Sid’s face out of my head. His small hunched shoulders, and tired eyes that held so much. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. I washed my hands.

As I walked down the darkened hall to room three, my mother’s face flashed before me, making me shudder. She wasn’t dead but continued to haunt me. I blinked her out of my head.

I took off the patent leather Domme boots and slipped on my clear plastic platform stripper/whore shoes. I unsnapped the corset and exhaled, finally able to relax my stomach and breathe easy again. I dressed back into my tight, cleavage revealing hooker top, tight miniskirt and started cleaning up the room. I tore off the top sheet on the double bed and straightened up the dresser. We hadn’t used the bed except to sit on it, so there was no need to spray Lysol to get rid of the funky smell that was usual after a session. I put the dominance toys away—the whips, paddles, restraints, handcuffs, and blindfolds.

“Dear, I hope I can see you again.” Sid said, interrupting the silence.

“Oh, I’d love to.” I meant it.

He stepped into his pants. I watched him zip his fly and fasten his thin worn belt. What was with this man? He patted his back left pocket for his wallet, then slid the billfold out and opened it. His movements were so slow and deliberate. He selected two neatly folded hundred dollar bills and five twenties. All the money was in order and facing the same way.

Ninety dollars would go to the house; the rest was mine. I thanked Sid, but I was strangely embarrassed at accepting the money.

I walked Sid down to the first floor.

“Good-bye, dear,” he said politely.

“Good-bye, Sid and thank you.” He walked away with stiff, shuffling steps.

I headed out to the kitchen to clear my head, and breathe a little.

I poured a glass of Diet Coke, which I never usually drank, and sat at the kitchen table. Summer sat opposite me painting her toenails.

I’d seen men who I liked, and hated, but I was always able to put them into a part of my mind where I didn’t think about them after their money was in my hand and they were out the door. That was the way I liked it. I didn’t want clients living rent-free in my head. But Sidney, he had broken through my thick wall of protection, he’d touched me and I felt him. Maybe because I didn’t understand him. I hoped those watery blue eyes wouldn’t haunt me. I blinked him out of my head.

“Lizzy honey, Jeff is here…your eight o’clock…” Ingrid yelled from the office.

“Be right there.” I ran my hands through my hair, checked myself in the mirror hanging by the door, and went out to greet my eight o’clock.

Sid was fading already.

by LZ Hansen

I was a sweet  looking child. I had a long thick mane of brown hair, that seemed to be constantly tangled, pure white skin and a pout, that kept people at bay. I was shy, withdrawn and at that age obeyed my parents…. And I had a secret. A secret I had cultivated from overheard conversations between adults, American TV shows, and later rock n roll memoirs I obsessed over. My secret was that I aspired to be a junkie, a really good junkie.

I copied the fashions of skinny straggly haired women who smoked unfiltered cigarettes and had far away eyes.

When I reached my teens and tired of the other substances I was indulging. I found heroin. It had been a fifteen year search and I was… excited. More than excited. I was turned on. I was a virgin on her honeymoon.

My new runaway boyfriend lived in a squat in Earls Court not far from my parents home. It was a teenage hangout, home, shooting gallery. I had a plan. At 5:30 Friday afternoon. I’d meet Tommy at his squat where he would have the drugs waiting. My heroin, my dream, my future.

I wanted to feel all of it, experience every moment. My life was in front of me. This was more than a love affair or a crush on a boy this was the gateway into myself, this was me, heroin was me.

Butterflies fought in my stomach, the anticipation. We sat on the floor…Tommy began to mix my hit with expert handling. He measured half a syringe of water and scooped a small amount of perfectly brown smooth beautiful heroin into a dirty spoon. With concentration and steady hands he held the spoon over a cigarette lighter, until the brown mixture almost boiled. Tommy bit off a tiny piece of a cigarette filter, rolled it between his filthy thumb and forefinger, and dropped it into the sweet mixture. With a old bent syringe he drew up my hit. Tommy tied my thin arm tightly with his leather belt and smiled at me. Holding the syringe to the light he flicked out an air bubble, and licked the tip of the needle.

I wasn’t nervous or scared I had waited for for, so long. I needed it. My lips felt loose, wet, trembling. He jammed the spike in my arm, shock at first…but… the pain felt good.  I saw the blood register, thick red virgin blood swirled up into the barrel in a slow dance, he plunged the muddy heroin downward, and immediately like a blissful transcending  orgasm, the heroin hit my mind, my crotch, my breasts. I could taste it in my veins feel it swirl in my wrists, my cheeks, my eyeballs, warm soft warmth.

I had had my first sexual orgasm when I was a young teenager. I was kissing and making out with a boy named Chris. He was a smart, handsome, & went to a good English public school. We were under the covers in his bed. After a long slow make out session he reached into my underpants and began to rub my clit. We touched each other softly, it was very sweet and innocent. With his fingers on my vagina suddenly I was shook. A flood, a wave of warmth and bliss curdled my blood. I was lifted into another world my eyes rolled back in my head as I came in a shocking surprise.

As Tommy pulled the spike out of my arm I sunk back against the side of the bed, limp. I felt him pull the belt from my arm and ask if “I was all right?” I opened my eyes to try and focus. I felt completely fucked.  As the hours passed my mind drifted. Images flickered, snapshots, moments in my life, horrific terrifying childhood pictures sizzled in a strobe like effect …but they… didn’t bother me any longer. I saw colors, reds and gold’s. Masturbating naked nymphs danced, and uncircumcised angles played in my mind. I tripped and fell into a warm soft comforting womb and cried in the devils arms.

I saw my soul.…I was in love, truly passionately, obsessively. I had been given my wings, my first time, I was on my way…..

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I’m guest-blogging on thedirtygirldiaries.com, run by Jodi Sh. Doff.

“Having graduated from U.C.L.A (University on the Corner of Lenox Ave) Zoe Hansen’s words and vivid descriptions take me back to the street I knew and grew up on. “My American Dream” is a compelling story of striving for just that, her dream, via the oldest profession. This is a totally original tale of one womens life that will make you laugh, relate and raise an eyebrow. Words of wisdom in a time when New York was a real jungle, you were hunting or you were the hunted…”.

Eric Weinstein, Associate producer of Entourage