And To Work For A Pimp...

What motivated me to work for a pimp - however briefly - a few years ago?  He represented protection and stability, and  he made me feel special.  Of course, this had to do with the manipulative skills of pimps, but he was very good at at.  Working as a prostitute, particularly as a streetwalker, you can sometimes feel lost and alone, and when a pimp talks to you, he can make the future sound so much better, so you feel like hanging on to him.  And, for me, there is something very sexy about a pimp - he seems more masculine and stronger than a lot of other men, and as a sensitive lady, being around this type of man makes me feel safe.

There is another aspect to the relationship between a prostitute and her pimp which happens to be disturbing: violence, or at least the potential for violence.  This one particular pimp I worked for was not violent towards me.  (But then, I worked for him very briefly; he and his main lady were from out of state and invited me to accompany them back to their home town.  When I said "no", since I was content working in my own city, he accepted my response in a good-natured way.)

I'd had a previous encounter with another pimp, which scared me.  Although he did not hit me, he threatened to do so if I didn't bring him a certain amount of money.  When I got on the track that night, I mentioned this to the first trick who drove up to me, and he drove me to the apartment where I was living at the time.  (I was not living with this pimp - we had just met that same day - and he didn't know where I lived.)

Would I work for a pimp again?  This is not an easy question for me to answer.  My first response would be "no", since I do like my freedom to come and go as I wish, working my own hours; however, I also highly value and respect a strong man who could protect me and make me feel I can do my best in this world.

On My Being A Hooker: Enough Is Enough With Judgmental People...

Enough is enough with judgmental people putting me down because they think my lifestyle as a prostitute is risqué and not socially acceptable: who are they to judge? Come on: flatbacking is not the worst way to earn a living. I’m simply doing what I do in order to survive, and the fact that I enjoy being a hooker is no one’s business.

I’m a lady of the streets, and I can’t help it; this is the way I am. A white trash whore? Whatever. If you don’t approve of this, then keep your priggish, judgmental attitude to yourself.

Odalisque

An odalisque was a personal chambermaid of the concubines in the harem of a Turkish sultan, trained in the art of being a concubine, or courtesan. She would then sexually serve the sultan, which would result in the change of her status to concubine. If she gave birth to the sultan's son, she would then become one of his wives.

Today, odalisque refers to a woman who is the courtesan of a wealthy and powerful man.

The Sweetest Kiss

Love For Sale

Love For Sale
When the only sound on the empty street
Is the heavy tread of the heavy feet
That belong to a lonesome cop
I open shop
The moon so long has been gazing down
On the warward ways of this wayward town
Her smile becomes a smirk, I go to work
Love for sale
Appetizing young love for sale
Love that's fresh and still unspoiled
Love that's only slightly soiled
Love for sale
Who will buy
Who would like to sample my supply
Who's prepared to pay the price
For a trip to paradise
Love for sale
Let the poets pipe of love
In their childish ways
I know every type of love
Better far than they
If you want the thrill of love
I've been through the mill of love
Old love
New love
Every love but true love
Love for sale
Appetizing young love for sale
If you want to buy my wares
Follow me and climb the stairs
Love for sale
(by Cole Porter)



Love for sale? Well, it is certainly sex for sale. And for some customers, fantasy is also for sale; in many cases, the customer is searching for something not available to him in his day-to-day world. Having worked as a prostitute on and off for quite some time, I have made a discovery of my own: some of these men are seeking more than physical release; they want to reach beyond what they already have. For them, I am Scheherazade - a storyteller - and I use not words but my body.



Let me be your Scheherazade
your breath, your blood, your life,
weaving tales of desire
through the jasmine scented night.
I will worship you alone
dark sultan of my dreams,
if you whisper, your voice like velvet,
of pleasures yet unknown.
I shall surrender willingly
as your hands possess,
strong and firm upon my skin
yet soft as silks caress.
I will kneel before you,
grant your every wish,
I will give you everything
if you allow me this.
Let me be your Scheherazade,
lie back on velvet pillows
and I will dance the seven veils
in silken swirling billows.
Let me be your lotus,
sweet, tender and pale,
a dewey petaled flower
that opens delicately
at dusks darkening hour.
Let me be your Scheherazade
a gift like desert rain
to trace in grace your dark skin
with locks of raven mane.
I will deliver un-ending delights
throughout the sultry night,
the nectar of mango upon your lips
combined with hungry kiss.
In the corner, over charcoal
amber resin glows
an ancient scent as dark and deep
as the Niles water flows.
I will be your mystery
like the sacred shadowed halls
where history reveals itself
and the pyramids secrets live.
Let me be your Scheherazade
for I have much to tell you...
and even more to give.
(by Goddess Athena:
www.writing.com)

To Be A Submissive

Some of us ladies who are courtesans - myself included - are submissives held in thrall by the magic of the forbidden. The taboo of BDSM is an irresistible lure into another, darker, yet enchanting world...







A wonderful and informative book about the world of BDSM: "Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns", by Philip Miller and Molly Devon...

Leda And The Swan

Leda And The Swan is a motif from Greek mythology, in which Zeus came to Leda in the form of a swan and either raped or seduced Leda on the same night she slept with her husband.

"Leda and the Swan"

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still

Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed

By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,

He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push

The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?

And how can body, laid in that white rush,

But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there

The broken wall, the burning roof and tower

And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air

Did she put on his knowledge with his power

Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

(William Butler Yeats)

Vintage French Postcards

The seductive allure of the courtesan is depicted beautifully in vintage French postcards: sexy, alluring, and charming.