samedi, octobre 09, 2004

agenices: the illegal slavery of women

RF0740, originally uploaded by netmichelle.

Now is the time for me to talk about agencies. It is something that I have been reticent to discuss mainly because they are the reason that I came to be. Nobody is born a whore, they are schooled and groomed for this position. Someone had to teach them how. It wasnâ??t easy. I wasnâ??t young or pretty enough. One agency ran by a lady told me that she only takes women that are 18-23 and with long hair. She only gave me the time of day because I was not black. She told me to meet here at a cyber cafe in Hollywood, and she never showed up. She probably saw me and decided to pass. This cafe was later to become important to me. There were many ladies that were prostitutes there, all checking their e-mail and chatting on their cell phones getting ready for their dates, and coming in for food. The place was open 24 hours, so for 2 months this cafe became my second home.

I think working for an agency is like drug running or like bank thievery. It is all a hustle, a scam, a game of smarts, The idea is to not get caught. Play it cool and no one gets get. Make sure that you keep you r eye on the ball and the name of the game is money and the name of the ball is more money. I really donâ??t know how I ended up in this biz. I am a really good natured person. I have never shop lifted, and I have never scammed someone for money. Suddenly I was thrust into a business that I had no business being in. Namely smut. Glorified smut. I had to convince them I was worth giving money to. I had to con everyone that I was better than I was. Basically I was a good looking pan handler.

Let me clarify this. It is so crazy that people have to pay for stuff that they do all the time anyway. Pay for sex? People will have sex anyway. Perhaps we, as providers, we help diminish rapes, we help reduce domestic violence. We keep the familial unit intact. We help keep that big rock of servitude on the finger of the wife. We keep our mouths shut and we take our payment like every other public servant except we know we may be gone tomorrow.

Agencies. I thought slavery was over. The sex trade is alive and well and they will keep shackles on you long after your time is done. They take the prettiest and youngest and then they squeeze the best years of your life out like toothpaste: a little here, a little there, and then one day, you wake up and realize that you donâ??t even have enough for yourself.

When I started I was their darling. Of course I made money. I was new. I didnâ??t know but I was being auctioned as a new girl, my implied virginal state was plied and angled like a fishing line iin the Snake river of Los Angeles. Of course they took the bait, I looked good, smelled good and did not know my ass my mouth.

I was pretty lucky but I got greedy. I started signing up for all the shifts. I was super whore. Better, faster, and more passionate than a politician on a campaign trail. I was determined to be, all that I could be, a w-h-o-r-e. Life was good. Then I started to fuck up. I started looking more ratty, and I had these bags under my eyes that would not go away no matter what I did. I would drive around all night zooming here and there, only to find more often than not, I was not the girl in the picture, and that I would knock on the door and no one would answer.

I started to get upset. I started to bang loudly on those shut doors. I would show up chewing gum because what-the-fuck, I was not giving the fuck, they were paying for my fuck. And fuck them I did. I started to get back at them. I started to give really good service. It was my way of fighting back. Maybe it was my martial arts training but I realized that I was going into the enemy, becoming one with the enemy. It was mind blowing when I turned the tables on them. I was the predator and they were the prey.

I looked deep into their eyes when I went down on them. I grabbed their hair when I fucked them, Occasionally I would lay their in missionary all passive and then I would look at them like a rabid animal and start spanking their ass. I was no longer super whore, I was psycho whore. They would feign to not kiss me and I would suddenly grab them and kiss them, almost violently, this was fun to do as I left them and went out the door. I started making more money. Guys would call up and start asking for me. I was being asked by the agency: What do you do to these guys, they are crazy for you. I shrugged my shoulders. I could care less. I was making money, but more importantly, I was working hard so that I could stay numb. As long as I did not look in the mirror, everything would be okay. Or so I thought.

One night my booker was not there. I made little money. Then that night stretched into three. I was seriously low on cash, and worse yet the agency director started to blame me. What happened. He would demand. Nothing. I went out on the two calls and booked them. Not my fault. I knew that my time as an agency girl was coming to an end.


Anonymous said...

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10:29 AM
Zinaval said...

First: that is a stunningly beautiful picture.

So, you've arrested my mind and got my attention for your essay. Agencies: I've never gone near them. I never will. I can like hookers, whores, shift mistresses, trysters, especially you of the independent breed. For latter of you, I have more than sympathy, I can love all of you. But pimps, no matter what stripe, repulse me. For this reason, I must be careful, because a whore-lover is always in danger of becoming a whoremonger, who is nothing but a pimp. Agencies are another form of pimping.

Perhaps people always have sex as you say, but I am of the opinion that we always pay for it, though not usually with money. We just otherwise take the payment so much for granted that we don't notice and never think about it. Every sexual organism pays something for sex, consciously or unconsciously.

Money for sex makes payment explicit, brings the cost of it to consciousness, in a way that it could no longer be ignored. In doing so, it disillusions us, perhaps saddens and shocks us, but ask, why were the illusions a good thing to begin with? Why is better to through life thinking that reproduction, sex and love are gifts, ignoring their costs or considering them abnormal?

This touches on a larger question: Why is it better to keep these outside our consciousness or will, as say, the Catholic Church insists with their stricture on birth control and abortion? (The whole justification for this is a call to romantic illusions: a disordered respect for life, putting the romantic "unitive" function of sex at the same rank as "the procreative" aspect, and declaring both sacred.) However, if there is no god in the universe, what are we allowing to control us while we refuse to exercise our will? The answer would be: our genes. Thus, our consciousness struggles for power against them, perhaps for it's survival. Because Darwinism says if consciousness is removed from reproductive importance, it will devolve away.

For the rest of your post, I am reminded of something that I just read in Traci Lord's autobiography. I'll preface this by saying that I witnessed her rapid rise to the top of smut. In her book, she made it plan that as a scared, angry runaway, sex gave her a feeling of power. I think that's what made her scenes so charged, I could sense that.

I think sex gives many women a feeling of power, if not actual power. Money must intensify that. Moreover, it connects the feeling back to the material world.

It's the opposite of romance novels, where the attraction and sex is really for it's own sake, and has no real attachment to anything material.

I think it's far better that if a woman enjoys a feeling of power, it shouldn't be just a feeling, it should be connected to something real, otherwise, isn't it the feeling just a deception?

Those are my thoughts.

S,H & P

8:03 PM  

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