STD's

     They’re called STI’s now because infection has less stigma than disease. Seriously? And yes, we’re talking about STI’s today. Why? Because I tested positive for chlamydia. I get tested every two months, and this one came back a winner. So I went, took four pills (at once) and now I don’t have chlamydia. Blam-O.

     But then there’s the ethical aspect. Do I feel bad for potentially giving my clients chlamydia and them potentially going home and giving it to their wives? Mostly no. It is shitty for the wives, because chances are they don’t think that there is a reason that they would need to go get tested. But guess what! I’m a prostitute! You roll the dice and take your chances. That is the reality of the situation. I take responsibility for my own body, and I assume that anyone I have sex with, personally or professionally, could be carrying an STI. You need to have sex with one person for an STI to be transferred. It’s not a volume thing. The more people you have sex with the higher your risk is, but the risk is always there. Clients ask me if I’m clean, and I want to ask them if they know how STI’s work. I would have to be tested after every partner to know for sure, and even then the tests take a week to come back. Rather than explain this, I just say yes. As we all should have been taught in middle school the most effective way to protect yourself from STI’s is to use condoms. And I do! Not ever, not once, not even just the tip have I not used a condom for vaginal sex or blow jobs. There’s no P to V touching with out a condom in anyway in Alison’s world. The shitty part is no one likes a dental dam, so when receiving oral I am unprotected.

    Between the phone call and going in for the pills, of course I hop on google. Man what a wealth of misinformation there is out there. You can get chlamydia from oral, vaginal and anal sex. Ok, I think to myself, so the virus like to chill in the hot gooey places, like my vag and throat. So if that’s the case couldn’t it be transferred through kissing? I ask my doctor this when I see her.

     “No,” She explains to me. “The bacteria [it’s a bacteria not a virus] only lives in gentital fluids. Chlamydia can only be transferred to the person giving oral.”

PLOT THICKENS

     If this is the case, then it is impossible for Alison to be responsible for this STI. Seriously. However, Realme is not so responsible. I have had three sexual partners since my last test. Jay and I used condoms for vaginal sex, but not oral and Logan and my more recent partner have both had vasectomies so we did not use condoms. Was this stupid? Apparently. I know about their other partners and I trust them so I’m good, right? Yeah, please refer to the above paragraph regarding how to get an STI.

     Point of my story: I got chlamydia because I’m a slut, not because I’m a whore. I FEEL SO VINDICATED.

Obligatory Blog Post

     I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’ve temporarily lost the knack for writing. I feel like all the stories I want to write will come out as “And then this happened, and then this happened, and then this happened…”. I don’t know why, and I’m not worried. While most things have settled down, my inspiration to write just isn’t what it used to be.

     Things have been really good though since my last post. I’ve quit crying in my orgasms! The weight in my chest has greatly subsided. Things have mostly returned to normal. It’s weird though. I feel like my world has been turned upside down. I’m done school, Joon’s work contract expired so she has returned home, my relationship status is single, and I’m hardly working. I hate being in my apartment without some sort of noise in the back ground. I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix and feeling pretty pathetic about things. I think I’m just feeling really lonely. All the things that used to occupy my time are all gone now. This is just a phase that I’m passing through. And it might also be the last blog post I write for a month or so, as on Wednesday Joon and I are driving across the country. I expect to be back late June.

     Work is going well though. I’m sure there are a lot of non-believers out there, but I had my apartment feng shui’d the other day and it has done wonders for my prosperity! I feel like I’m working half as much, making twice as much. Lots of weird and wonderful things have happened too.

     I think the highlight was last week I was paid to play arcade golf for two hours with another one of our girls, and two clients.

     This morning three of us were sent out to this call with these three young drug dealers. Drug dealers are a different breed, and they’re not my favourite. So cocky. One of them had a tattoo on his chest that said, “Do not revive” Such a hurtin’ puppy.

     A client the other day was short on cash, and didn’t have a car to go get more. I wasn’t going to let him in my car for safety reasons, but I convinced him to give me his debit card and pin number so I could drive and pull the cash out for him. I’ve got mad skills.

     I nearly punched a client the other day. He was drunk and man handling me a bit to much, and he bit my nipple a little too hard. It startled me more than hurt me. I yelled at him, “No!” and pointed my finger at him like he was a bad dog. He started crying.

     Mom has clearly moved on from the “my daughter’s a hooker” shock to the disappointment that I’m not running my own agency. She also asked to borrow $40,000 the other day. 

Emotional Garbage

     It seems that I’ve got this new thing. At work when I have my orgasms is when all this emotional garbage wants to come out. All the emotions of heart break for relationships damaged and destroyed over the last month come ramming against the doors of the walls I’ve built around my heart and they want out. When that tsunami of an orgasm hits me the doors bust open, and I do everything I can to close them as quick as possible before I lose control. I don’t think my clients have caught on. I think they think it’s just part of it; that single sob and quiver that escape before I plaster on a sleepy smile.

     And honestly right now, things are ok. I smile a real smile, and my happiness is sincere. Recovery mode is almost complete. However, I still feel the pit in my chest. I’m still carrying that around, and I need to do something about it. I feel like I need to go to a screaming class or something. I need to do something cathartic. Perhaps I should call up my old BDSM friends and have them beat it out of me… mmmm, that’d be nice.

     You see, the thing is, mid April things were perfect. Work was good, school was good, and relationships were amazing. Owen, my fiancé, and I had broken up about a month previous to this, and we were at a stage where things were good. We were fighting less, talking more and walking towards a healthy relationship with each other. I had Logan with his snuggles and touch that felt like he was caressing my soul. And I had Jay who could just fuck the shit out of me. It was amazing. We literally spent days at a time in bed together. I had the intellectual, the emotional and the physical. I had the trifecta of perfection. And I was smart enough to know it. I also knew it was too good last. However, what I did not realise at the time was that it would all come crashing down so completely.

     Jay ended things a little over two weeks ago. He sent me a really nice, cliché ridden text saying something along the lines of him not wanting to share me, but lets just be friends. Hearing that irritated me more than hurt me. He was a key ingredient in this perfection and now he was removing himself? He said that he wanted more, and he knew he would end up getting hurt. Which is fair. I did not want more. I wanted exactly what I had. However he was growing on me. He was hot, and charming and just a general sweet heart, and he made me laugh harder than I can remember laughing in a long time. Given that my relationships with Owen and Logan do not have a romantic future I foolishly texted him offering to give them up in an attempt to see if things between him and I would work. I did not hear back from him. Quelle Surprise!

     So my heart is broken for him, and for the fights with Owen that enflame such an anger of hurt, I don’t think he has any idea, and for being such a fool with him… for him. I wouldn’t do it differently. I just wish it was different. I still love him for who he is, he is just not what I need in a life partner, and that makes it so hard. And my heart breaks for my parents, and the shame they now carry for me. Mom is pretending nothing ever happened and swept it under the rug, and by 'it', I mean the ticking time bomb that this will become. Dad and I are working on resuming a normal conversation. It’s going to take a long time before we return to ‘normal’. And my heart breaks for what happened at customs. I have realised that right now it is not a financial priority to hire a lawyer. I’m worried that this may be something that shouldn’t be put off, but I have tuition, taxes, credit cards and other debts that need to be attended to first.

     So these are all the emotions that come barrelling at me when I cum. It’s hard. I need to find a way to let them out. 

Return To Civilization

     The dust is starting to settle. The world has not ended. I had a realisation the other day that this is exactly what it’s like for many to come out of the closet for being gay. Friends are sharing stories with me about similar stories where they have had to ‘come out of the closet’ about various aspects of their sexuality to family members who are far less accepting than mine. Although I said that I would be here until Tuesday, it’s time for me to come home and move on with life.  

  

     I talked to my mom the next day and she was “fine”. Everything was fine. I think she really meant it when she said she never wants to talk about it again. Under the rug it goes. My Dad ends each conversation with by stating the same thing but calls back the next night with more questions for me. He asks about the process of how I obtain my clients and how much I make and various aspects of my job. He asked if I was a sex addict. I told him I’m not sure, but I really don’t know a lot about sexual addiction. A lot of people see addiction as when something interferes with your day to day life. My uncle is undeniably an alcoholic, but he is by far the most financially successful member of our family. I don’t engage in unhealthy, destructive behaviours to get laid. 80% of the time I go to the bar, I come home alone. Admittedly some times because I don’t get lucky but most of the time it’s because I don’t care to. When I was in school I would masturbate all the time but at home, alone. My point is I don’t do weird things to feed this addiction.

      Dad keeps referring to me as a hooker. I don’t see myself as a hooker. I view a hooker as those who walk the streets but I recognise that really, it’s all the same. The term doesn’t bother me at all though. My friends and I joke around about it all the time. He doesn’t understand why I’m glamourizing it by calling myself an escort. I don’t know. You’re a driver or a chauffer, you’re a cook or a chef. I’m just going to let him do what he needs to do to get through this. I hate the phone calls though. I hate listening to the pain in his voice. I feel like having them is my end of the bargain.

     I’ve been having trouble sleeping. My brain just keeps going over how incredibly, incredibly stupid I was. If I was travelling with other people, I would have never said that. I would have never compromised their trip like that. So what the hell was I thinking? I don’t know. It’s also the guilt of what I’ve put my parents through that keeps me up. I try to not think about it but when the lights go out at night my thoughts always just go back there. This will pass. I will forgive myself.

      As I’ve mentioned, I have tremendous luck and I always tend to get whatever I want, just never exactly how I wanted. So, I’ve decided that I will make it to Burning Man this year. It will happen. I will have faith and the stars will align for me. This morning I sat down and looked at the ‘I-192 Application for Advance Permission to Enter the United States’. There is a $600 fee to file this application and it must be done 120 days in advance. Burning Man is in 114 days. There are 4 other forms that must accompany the I-192 including a federal criminal back ground check, which will all take time and money. I will not burn this year. But I am not banished from the community. And there are still tons of local events hosted by them. I just won’t get dusty this year. That’s ok. I have other friends who are broken hearted because they can’t afford to go, or their jobs won’t give them time. This is not the end of the world. This is an opportunity for me to practice compersion.