From There to Here

After my last story I was asked how I made the transition from my first experience as a prostitute to being a streetwalker with a pimp. The actual transition wasn't any big deal really. The way it worked for me is that I picked up guys on the street on my own like three more times, but sometimes I felt very unsafe. Once you're out there a few nights, the other working girls and the pimps see you around, so it wasn't long before I was asked by Michael if I'd like his protection.

That protection came with him taking control of my finances, which I resisted at first. I didn't want him paying my rent and utilities, but he insisted, and eventually I said yes. What I didn't realize was that meant staying in an apartment he owned. It was in a three family house and I had two rooms on the second floor, with a shared bathroom and shared kitchen. My old apartment, which I had just moved into with the extra money I had made hooking, was all mine, with my own bathroom and kitchen area, but I let Michael persuade me that the new place was better.

Michael had the entire third floor to himself. His girlfriend, another one of his working girls, slept with him. When Michael and I fucked we did it in my room. The same with the other two girls who shared the house. I was with Michael for about six months, before he was shot and killed in his car on a trip to New York. Whatever money Michael was supposedly holding for me went away with him.

All the girls went their separate ways, and I ended up working for another pimp, who was Michael's cousin (or second-cousin or maybe just a close family friend he called cousin, because the story always shifted.) I can't say his cousin's real name, or people might figure out who I am from this story, so I'll call him Eric.

Eric was much more of a gangster than Michael. He carried his gun on him, not in his glove compartment like Michael. He ran the girls, but didn't fuck them because he didn't want to catch any diseases. Whee Michael made us all feel like we were competing for his affection, Eric just ordered us around like slaves, and while Michael at least pretending we were making money for ourselves, Eric just kept the money, and if we whined about it or complained, we were liable to get hit.

Eric hated my look. He said that my innocent schoolgirl look wasn't bringing in enough money, even though I knew I was earning more than anyone. He wanted me to "slut it up." That meant looking more like a hooker, less like a girl who just happened to be walking home late at night. Eric got me my piercings: tongue, nipples and clit, and I got his name tattooed just above my pussy, on my mons. "ERIC'S" it said, marking me as his property.

(Today the tattoo is gone, as are the nipple piercings and tongue piercing. I kept the clit piercing.)

Thanks to Eric's ideas about the way I dressed for work I got picked up by LEO for the first time, and went through the terrible ordeal of being arrested and named in the paper. The very minute I got out I was back to work for Eric, sucking a guy off not a block from the courthouse.

Michael was about the money. He'd set goals and demand you make them. Like, "Go and get me $500 tonight." Michael didn't care about how much money we made, as long as we made money, like all the time. I remember working for him so non-stop I went three days without a shower. I know, that sounds so gross.

I'd work the street from sunset to 3am, then maybe sleep two hours before Eric would drive me to a date he arranged online. While I was doing whatever the client wanted at whatever hotel or house I was driven to, Eric was arranging more dates. If I felt tired I'd do a bump of coke. If I felt dirty I wash in a restroom.

This was my life, and I didn't want out. I didn't like my life, but I didn't care enough to improve it. Blow a guy? Sure. Piss on guy? Fine. get pissed on? No problem. Anal? Two guys? Three guys? Bachelor parties? Couples? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Anything Eric said, I did.

Then, one day, just like that, Eric sold me outright. He was leaving town, and said, "Meet Jim. He's your new pimp."

I never saw Eric again. Jim wasn't a pimp, I learned pretty quickly. He was just some middle aged white guy who thought he could buy a girl for $1000. He brought me to his house, fucked me, cried, and let me go. I stole some stuff on the way out, called a taxi (Uber wasn't a thing yet) and went to the apartment I shared with two other working girls.

For the first time in like 18 months I was free. I even had a little money. But that wouldn't last. I had no idea what to do or where to go, but I remembered another working girl who had gotten a job in a strip club. She said it was safer and she made more money than being a straight up hooker, though she did plenty of tricks in the booths.

So I got a job at a downtown strip club, and started working there. One of the men who owned the building the strip club was in was a semi-regular. He was thirty years older than me, but we synced up perfect. I was living with him a week later, and we've been together ever since. I stopped working the club when it closed. Married to my husband, who owned quite a bit a real estate, meant I never really had o work there. I, and my husband, both really liked it that I worked there.