netmichelle

I found out that my booker was working for another escort company. I was thrilled to learn that she was doing well and had a plan to get me in to the company. It was hard for me to get hired in the Los Angeles escort agencies, they would tell me that I was too old, but she knew that I was reliable and not a drug addled flake like the other girls. There was one small problem. I knew the guy who ran the company, and I wanted to go low profile. So she concocted a new name for me and did not put my photo up on the escort website. I was instead the new girl who was saving up money for pictures. This worked out perfectly. The money was substantially better, and now I started to have confidence. I was getting better clients. When things are good they only last so long.

My booker was a speed junkie. She would work all hours and chat non-stop to my prospective clients on the phone, making me sound like a movie star, a perfect 30s bimbo, a housewife, a college slut, you name it. She was fucking amazing. The problem was that drugs were clouding her judgement. Or that was what I wanted to believe, when in actuality, I realized much later, I was set up. That is all that I can say for now. I will have to wait for more time to pass to elaborate on the details. The individual who was responsible for my demise apologized to me once so profusely that it hit me all of a sudden: that she had quickly carried out her threat to turn me in. Just the thought of her now makes my skin crawl in revulsion.