Happenings on the outside….

19 Feb

As you may know, or may not know…my recent dealings with “the new guy” (I’ll just call him that) made me seriously reconsider the ramifications of this job.

He would qualify as the 2nd guy I was really interested that (I feel) it didn’t work out with because of my job.

News Update: He might be willing to give me a 2nd chance…and consider it part of my past…IF I change my job/situation sooner rather than later. I haven’t asked for a second chance on the basis of some part of my future that hasn’t happened yet. Only time will tell if I can change future events. Its in my hands now…I don’t want the decision to be in his.

You’re thinking, “change your job for a man, are you nuts?”   But…this kind of job is not that simple. This job isn’t a “do I stay or do I go?” type of black/white, yes/no situation. You have to tally the pros and cons in your head, realistically put time into what OTHER options may be available to you out there….figure out of the benefits outweigh the downfalls. Currently…there is a longer list of reasons to leave this industry than there are to stay. These are not some made up reasons – they are things that I have figured out and stacked up over time, and by documenting the financial side as well. So don’t go thinking this is some brash decision. It’s been on my mind for a while.

You couple actual earnings vs. the money you have to spend to work in a brothel.
Then you mix in things like…being away from home.
It’s not like I just LIVE in Nevada and I can go sleep at my house whenever I want.
When I work in Nevada, I live IN the brothel.

There’s sacrifices you make such as:
Food – the food is not the most amazing, unless you want to go buy it.

Health – with cigarette smoke filtering throughout the building and an old ventilation system…even if you SMOKE cigarettes, you’d be surprised how icky you feel when you have to breathe dirty air 24/7

Compromised quality of sleep – the light is always peering in. There’s always hip hop blasting down the hall. Girls walking to their room. EVERY TIME a client goes in and out of the door, you hear a buzzer. You’re lucky to get a few hours of serious sleep from 5am to 10am….after that, your sleep gets disrupted. You can tell which girls live in the brothel for 3 weeks or more….by the way their eyes seem bloodshot from the smoke in the air, and how dark their under eye circles are due to lack of sleep.

When I’m gone, I’m putting my dreams on hold. – I think I started this job a bit…overly optimistic…thinking people would be willing to deal with my schedule of being here and gone. Its virtually impossible to get in a rhythm of good business conduct when I’m gone. I leave….people assume I’m flaky, no matter what I tell them.

Depression kicks in after 9 days, every time (aka that old 10 day fall-out) – Yes, gone is the idealized notion that I could stay for 2 weeks or 3 weeks or a month at a time and let the money stack up. Whether its the dirty air or the shitty quality of sleep…it seems to be standard for me that “The Glitch” (aka depression) will kick in after 9 days of consecutive work. I don’t think any job should make you think about your premature demise. I’d never off myself…but its obvious that my brain apparently turns to these kinds of dark thoughts when it gets past a certain level of fatigue combined with lack of business. To willingly put oneself through such torture when I’m capable of more….seems unreasonable.

No rhythm and no routine means no progress...and that means it hurts me more than anyone else.

Because of my own desire to stay anonymous, I can’t move “up” in the hooker world to houses that will bring more money. I can’t picture myself going somewhere that the money would be better, and then risk the permanent stamp of “WHORE!” and “ADULT ENTERTAINER!” It’s why I have avoided more public houses. Most of the girls at my house are girls who have been FIRED by those more famous houses. I’m still not ready to put my real life up on the shelf and get the permanent stamp of “Sex worker” – trust me – whether you are  a former sex worker or always a sex worker…its a reputation that follows you all your life…and  maybe I don’t want that.

Regardless of the downfalls of the job…
I still view it as something I had to do….as part of my own learning experience.

It’s like I finally know how to handle myself in ways that other girls don’t.

Imagine if you could go to a school where you’d get taught…how to never let anybody play games with your heart again.

I feel like working in a brothel has done that for me.
Companionship drives us more than sex….but sex is stuffed down our throats in American culture.

I think we as a culture and as a people in America – the “oversexed nature” of society is actually making us feel super stressed. Women feeling like they can’t keep up with 18 year olds. Men feeling like they constantly have to bone whatever hot piece of ass they see in the dive bar.

In the sense that if you’re fucking somebody daily, and you’re only fucking them…that must make the other person your boyfriend or girlfriend. Really there’s so much more to it than that. I feel bad for people who only penetrate the “sex layer” of a relationship. If sex is all that’s happening, you’ll NEVER BE SATISFIED.

(If you’re a happy healthy person who is gonna get older one day, I don’t see happiness from a sex-centered relationship happening and having that happiness be lasting.)

I think some people go to their 40s and even their 50s….still obsessed with the prospect of the next person they fuck. Where they will go to get their fix.

Obviously there are some people in life who are destined to be obsessed with fucking, like some deformed alpha male gene planted itself in their brains and took over like a weed, so the need to FUCK all the time will dominate. I think a need for constant conquests and fucking can be a sort of glitch in the brain…and an addiction….as it certainly gets you high, much like gambling and drinking….works the same dopamine and Norepinephrine receptors in the brain….For those addicts….its not entirely their fault.

America hasn’t helped though, that’s for sure.

Sorry for my banter. I sleep now.


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