An ex-sex worker looks back at how it felt to head for a “date” with a client

A look back at life as a call girl
Listen to the words as a brief story of a sex worker is read aloud. Find out how it felt to head to a “date” and see people look at you knowingly. The way the smirk…Yhe way the cab driver asks you what hotel you’re going to before you say a word. He is right, you are headed to a hotel, but it would be nice if he pretended not to know. But people do know. Why? Bc you’re alone and kinda dressed up by Hawaii’s easy going standards? Bc you’re black? Or is it some undefinable X factor that tells people what you’re all about. Not just the people you want to know bc they will give you money…But everyone who looks in your direction. You hate them all, those lucky people who begin and end their evenings with the same person bc they can sustain relationships unlike some people. Unlike you. You know you’re lucky to have even temporary company. The adventure of meeting new people has its appeal and you could have had fun, If only you weren’t on your way to have sex with a stranger. And if you didn’t fell the contempt radiating from the people who notice you get in the elevator without a hotel room card-key bc you’re hoping someone will let you off on the correct floor. People, well, only the men, will help you gain entree to a hotel floor by sidestepping the security measure that only allows people with cards to insert to press elevator buttons. Non-guests can’t get out of the lobby without an escort or the kindness of strangers. But in truth the polite strangers are not motivated by kindness as much as they are motivated to be a bit player in a story they can share with guy friends. “I let the girls ride up with me!” is what they are sure to say when recounting their vacations. They push the button for the floor you request but you feel their vibe in the enclosed space. Lust,superiority, derision, curiosity—you feel their mood as if it’s palpable, solid enough to hold in your hands. The concept of you as some sort of “other,” certainly not part of “us,” will be shared by many others long after these days are over; that palpable mood is more real than even you knew at the time. You look at the elevator doors like every other person on the elevator, but still you see. The dismissive shake of their heads. And that hated smirk. When it comes to “us” and “them” you are always them.

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