Irony, Irony, Irony!!!!

14 Mar

Hello Readers,

I made the decision to “quit the business” for a GUY.
You know the kind of guy. Charismatic, intelligent, could make me laugh for days, was totally interesting…..put a huge smile on my face, could light up a room.

I was bound and determined to get (and keep) this intriguing gent, in spite of the fact that his devastation at my going off to work in the brothel, completely leveled the beginnings of a really enjoyable relationship.

I packed my car with a newfound sense of determination the last time I left Nevada.
I filled it as full as I could. Even my friends knew something was up with the way I was packing things. They thought something was “wrong”, but no. In my mind, I was finally setting something right.
One more trip to the brothel is all that awaits me, and then I am home free and all of my belongings will be gone from there.

I applied for jobs.
Went to interview after interview.
I did all of this amidst having the flu. Not even a 103 degree fever could stop me from showing up to a job interview. I was drenched in sweat, but god damn it, I was there.

Talk about a whore on a mission.

I put a wish out there to the stars in my job search.
Actually…more like a legitimate prayer:
I said, “God, I want to have a job I really like.”
And wouldn’t you know, the most perfect, the most magical, uplifting job I could have imagined popped up.

It was in geographic perfection to the man I thought I still had a shot at a relationship with. So I went for it! I took the job.

He wasn’t the only reason. He was one of many I needed to quit the sex industry (my emotional health for example.) But…this job was a perfect illustration of the law of attraction in action and hypothetically if I WERE a stalker…its the kind of move thats borderline creepy. It even made me uncomfortable. I still went for it though.

Scared beyond belief, I was staring massive change in the face.
How little the job pays, along with the stark contrast it is to working in a whorehouse, I still took the job. I took it because I knew my soul needed some rebuilding, and its the kind of job where it can completely rebuild your system from the inside out. I get to work with happy, happy people. In a seniors center, a retirement home, to be exact. What could be happier than that? No drunks, nobody trying to fuck me (save for a flirty old man in a wheelchair). I get to wear a uniform…what could be better?

ALL within a comfortable driving distance of this fellow!
I shall have you know that this hiring process takes some time.
They do a background check.
Drug tests.
Here I am hoping that my prostitutes license on file doesn’t pop up in my background check.

I’m not a felon and I’ve never been arrested, so why would it?
Even so, there’s always that fear.

This lengthy hiring process left me with significant downtime.
This downtime was spent with who else: My gentleman friend.
My gentleman friend who actually would pick up the phone now.
The gentleman friend who would answer my texts in well-timed fashion.

The gentleman friend who would let me hold his hand, put my head in his lap, sit closely to him…

This gentleman friend found plenty of excuses to “need” me.

This man is a social butterfly and for everything he needed, there is a long list of women and men who would gladly accommodate him with the things he was asking for.

But he didn’t get help from them, he got help from me.

Granted, I could have been the last on the list and the only one who would say yes because I was between jobs and needed something to fill my time, so I was an easy target. But…he never cut things short. Helping him with a simple task would turn into a 12 hour marathon hangout session, all this from a guy who is “so busy.”

When his brother finally got home one night, we walked down the street to pick up a midnight snack and his brother would enthusiastically say “walk with us Bambi!” If his brother’s adoration of me is any indication of his love, you would think that I was his new sister-in-law.

An evening that could have turned into a night on the town with his friends who stopped by unannounced, turned into a quiet night at home, and we sat on the couch, talking, and talking, until it was time for him to go to sleep.

One night I came over for no reason at all.  Because he wanted me to, because I wanted to.

I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to spend time with someone for their company and nothing more when you’ve been shoving dicks down your throat for two years. Trust me…time with only hand holding is priceless.

Yet, me, being the appropriate one, I never pushed sex. Because I figured, oh…a guy has to figure it out.



Yes, I’m a keen and observant motherfucker…any girl knows that a bachelor with freshly washed sheets washed his probably washed them because he just fucked a girl. In fact…he was very nonchalant about taking his sheets in and out of the dryer, almost like he WANTED me to know exactly what was going on without actually saying.

Plus….there were “period tissues “in the trashcan.

STIFF period tissues.

Yes, you can imagine me being a pathetic little snoop as I am sitting to pee and I stare, totally alarmed, at the blaring red wads of tissues in the little wastebasket next to me.

You can imagine my dirty little fingers slowly touching one wad of tissues to figure out if they are covered in jiz.

And then you can imagine me poking at the second wad of tissues…

and you can imagine the gross face I make, because yes,
on those tissues are cum and blood mixed together.

Then I feel like I get immediately transported back in time to the moment it happened like some psychic ho, because when I feel exactly how STIFF those tissues are, its the kind thing thats either direct squirt from a girls vagina, or a freshly swabbed dick.

Its fresh evidence and its disgusting.

I washed my hands after…trying not to vomit.
Hey….at LEAST I ADMIT I touched them!

I’m just a whore on a mission you know…a mission to fall in love, so I had to figure it out.

Had the tissues been soaked with only blood (soft, flexible tissues), then I could have chalked it up to a platonic female friend coming over to visit while she was on the rag, and he probably watched a movie with her.

But no, those tissues were stiff.
It was total jiz evidence that he fucked a girl in the last 48 hours.

Like a puzzle snapping itself together, suddenly a flood of memories of flirtatious facebook ramblings come to mind and I know exactly who the girl is. I MEAN EXACTLY.

It’s this aggressive girl who was on a mission to fuck him.
Her aggression makes her disgusting.
The only reason I know all this was because on those slow days in the brothel,
all I could do was cry my eyes out and stare at his facebook page, hoping that I could fix things, hoping things would get better.

And when I left the brothel early to be home on valentine’s day hoping I could be his valentine, there I was like a loser, staring at the facebook page, noticing this trampy commentary from this aggressive real life whore…thinking….

“Oh, looks like a whore on a mission to bag him.”

That was ten days ago when I made that “jiz discovery” in the bathroom, and right after that discovery, I asked the gentleman what was going on.

“So, are we friends, are we more than friends? I know you slept with someone.”

His response:
“That’s not really happening”

Completely telltale is the gross face he makes, which gives me this all-too-clear visual of him being slightly grossed out yet slightly horny, thinking if he bangs the crazy broad, the bitch will go away.

His face tells me he regretted it.
So fine.

He tells me he “kind of knows” where it’s going between the two of us….but does not give a solid answer.

Yet, I still watch his facebook page, because its entertaining to see what he’s up to…
and I still see this crazy girl making facebook posts.

I ask a few days later if he’s still talking to her.
He says no.

Then…after we spend four days in a week hanging out…
four days which have multiple purposes…
like…he needed help with writing something…
He needed a hair cut.
He needed a ride when he was car-less.
Which he even paid me gas money for. Ample gas money.
He “needed” all these things but mostly they seemed like half-excuses for company.


Evidence that they talk.
Evidence that when I said “do you still talk?”
and he said “no”
That was when I got lied to.

I want to vomit.
I’m like, what the fuck.

On a couple of occasions he’s told me that she’s a nutter.
So I’m thinking, “if she’s a nutter, then why the hell would you associate with a nutter? It’s bad for business.”

So I stand up for myself.
I write him this email saying how unprofessional it is that this nutter of a gal is posting on his facebook wall, and it doesn’t belong there. It should get filtered out.

Then he tells me he’s “Never had to deal with a relationship online before.”
Thus admitting to still being in a relationship with this crazy broad.

A crazy broad who I googled.
She’s fucking married.
MARRIED, aka, not divorced, and lives in Hollywood.


I text him. My last hour, at my first day on the job.
I say, “Look, can I come over to talk to you, I think you owe me an apology.”

He says,“Don’t you think that’s a little much?
Come over if you like.”

What I am wishing could have been my first short drive to his house. A drive that seems all too good to be true….it’s NOT a drive of celebration. Instead, I’m taking a drive to get the truth.

Inside his house, he’s useless for words.
Conversation can only be had standing up, while he is smoking a cigarette outside.

I tell him.
“Look, things fell apart when I went to work in the brothel. I thought that if I got a job I would be fixing it, so I got the job, thinking I would get a second chance with you, and I want to know if I can get a second chance.”

First, he tells me that getting the job was a manipulative move to pull. Unless he was part of what motivated me. If he motivated me he says, that would be great.

I tell him, “Yes, YES YOU DID INSPIRE ME TO CHANGE.” and he’s thrilled with such a prospect.

But then, a wash of change comes over him. He becomes stern in his stance…slightly distant. He tells me… “Bambi, I’m going to be very very clear. Like the book says….I’m just not that into you.”

Yes…he actually used that line.
He told me how work was taking off.
He told me that he’s putting in these incredibly long days.
He told me that he’s so very selfish lately, and he doesn’t see himself being in a relationship right now.

“That’s not to say I could be in a relationship next week. I could fall madly in love. I mean, it’s only happened one other time, but it could happen.” he tells me.

Then he says,
“And I don’t want this to be a blow to your ego because its not you, its me. You’re a beautiful girl and…the romance side of things, its not what I want right now.”

I get specific…
“Are we still friends, can we still spend time together? ”

“Is it okay that I am attracted to you?”
He responds that he’s attracted to me.

“Is it because I’m bad in bed?”
No, he shakes his head.

“What about the future, would things be different?”
“Now Bambi” he says,“How am I supposed to know that?”

We move inside.
He sits in the reclining chair.
Typically we’d be sitting next to each other on the couch.
I ask for him to sit next to me.
He says “No, I’m fine here.”

I’m trying to figure it all out.
You know me. I’m like a little scientist. I want answers.

“If you get another girlfriend and start seeing someone else, will you tell me?”
He says yes.

“Can I come over and cook you dinner like I wanted?” and he says yes.

Then he says something like “Now I’m not going to have a lot of time to hang out, but you’ll be closer now.”


I look him square in the eyes and say,
“Can I still hold your hand?”

He just smiles at me.
That kind of smile that says in spite of how he tries to be the world’s biggest douchebag, I still remind him he has something left of a real heart.

I leave dumbfounded.
I cry a little.
Like I always would over things.
I feel like the biggest fool on the planet because I, Bambi Brothelbuski, took a leap of faith for love, and this time, I did not get it right.

I call my best friend and let him know how it went.
He assures me that this isn’t an entirely bad thing, that a friendship is better than nothing.

Yet, all I can think about…
is all the time we’ve spent together in the last week.
Granted, I felt like a doormat half the time.
The time was so…multi-purpose. Save for a couple nights that were only for company’s sake.

But I LIKE being multi-purpose. It keeps me entertained.
I think of…how my gentleman friend smiled at me.
The way he would smile at me…
and the way he would look at me…
and the way he would laugh under his breath like something had his tongue…
It was like he was changing right before my eyes
It was as if I was looking at a man who was falling a little bit in love.

Except…instead of wanting to run from the face of love, all I wanted to do was stare right back, and smile.

When we stood outside…and he was trying to tell me how “not into me” he was…
it seemed like it was all the hurt hurt and devastation talking. Not just how I had hurt hi, but how every woman before had hurt him…and I took the crushing blow for YEARS of hurt.

The man who gave me that speech was…jaded and wounded.
Not the man I have come to love.

I asked him when we were sitting inside,
“Was there any one thing that did it, one thing that killed it?”

He said,
“You going to work in the brothel was what really did me in.”

I was emphatic before I left about how I could use a friendship.
Most guys want the relationship.
Most guys want to marry me.
Most guys want more of my time than I ever wanted to give them.
Most guys are needy, and that neediness drives me crazy.
But him.

I told him:
“You can do anything. You’re so intelligent. I enjoy talking with you. I’ve never once heard you say that there is something you don’t know how to do. You just go off and do it. You’re so great at so many things. It keeps you interesting. You’re passionate about things and that’s why I like you. “

I even told him how I’ve scheduled dates. But dating is frustrating when I don’t even want the typical relationship. The same things most women want.

In fact, having had the company of some of the most boring AND some of the most fascinating men on the planet in the last 2.5 years…and to love sex like I do…

for me to tell a man I simply enjoy his company is the highest compliment that could possibly come from a soon-to-be-former whore.

I wondered if all the hurt and devastation could cause a man to say he’s not into me.
Not in love with me…the antithesis of everything he said before….all because of my job.

I wondered if time could rebuild things.

It seemed like they were starting to rebuild, but then I HAD TO GO OFF AND DEMAND THE TRUTH.

Believe me, I’m one of the few and the proud to demand the truth from this man.
Most women find him so charismatic that they would rather delude themselves on the possibility of a relationship, the fantasy of fake “I love yous” rather than be told the truth.

So I demanded the truth and when he gave it to me, he stood tall, and he stood his ground firm like a man should.

You can’t build on a foundation of lies.
At least I leveled whatever bullshit remained….



One Response to “Irony, Irony, Irony!!!!”

  1. Neo_Anderson69 March 19, 2011 at 8:55 pm #

    So what kind of new job do you have. Meaning what area of work without being too specific ? You seem to have that extreme up & down emotional roller coaster of a life ride, that you seem not to be able to stabilize yet ? So be looking for a personal e-mail from me & maybe I can stabilize it in some way shape or form, cause until u meet me your life will stay on the same coarse it has always been in since u took on being a Ho ooker. Signed The one

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