Tag Archives: Emotions

A Prostitutes Origins: Broken in Pieces

Dear Readers, 

I don’t want to dampen your day. My blog speaks a lot on the topic of pain. I am not always a depressed person. I have learnt to be quite thankful and positive about life situations. However, pain is an inevitable part of life. When pain happens, I have no outlet to express myself in real life. I don’t like to talk about my sadness with others — so this blog is an outlet for myself. Even though I speak about dark things, please know that I have an optimistic perspective of life (and have optimism for those in a similar situation). Whatever happens in life is always for a purpose. Broken pieces can be put back together. And although scars remain, only scars produce the following beautiful, invaluable traits: character, substance, passion.

Broken-Vase-Symbolism

Almost all prostitute comes from a history of pain. It might have started in their childhood, teens or early adulthood. It might have been a neglectful or abusive parent(s) or exploitation and trauma from home or outsiders. A woman who is loved properly and is well protected is very unlikely to become a prostitute. The sex industry pulls women from downtrodden backgrounds.

I come from a dysfunctional, broken family. Never had a Father figure. At times, I was prey for predators. Being a child or teen without strong familial protection makes one ripe to many societal ills and unhealthy coping mechanisms. My siblings and I all had issues due to coming from our dysfunctional family — I became a prostitute, my brothers used to sell drugs and my sister developed an intolerable and spiteful character. We all coped in unhealthy ways also. Pain and trauma usually leads a child into two directions when they become an adult: they can become abusive/neglectful themselves (because that’s all know how to beand/or they resort to drugs, drinking, and other self-destructive habits to cope. One can only hope to heal by becoming introspective and developing empathy for oneself and others. Part of healing is unlearning the self-destructive coping mechanisms, unlearning the negativity, unlearning the pain that has shaped oneself. That’s where I find myself — unlearning, trying to understand, trying to heal.

One would never guess that I come from a broken family. I do very well at hiding everything. If need be, I can speak intellectually, dress well-to-do and behave eloquently and cheerful. My “normal” persona gives off the idea that I come from a decent family and that I went through life relatively unscathed — which is misleading. In reality, I come from a family that has experienced drive by shootings, addictions, domestic violence, criminal activity, suicides and certain family members serving prison sentences. And, of course, I added prostitution to our lovely family legacy. Having said that, I love my family deeply. My family also has many good aspects–and thankfully, certain family members have improved themselves and their situations. I am grateful for my background and family. My character and passion comes from the struggle — it wouldn’t have come from an easy life, unscathed.

Even when I feel strong and determined, pain still remains from all the brokenness. When I see my younger relatives with deep scars from cutting themselves on my their arms, I get sad. When I hear that a teenager has already lost hope for life, I want to die inside. What causes a young boy or girl to slit their wrists? My heart breaks knowing I cannot even reach out to give them hope and tell them I will give my life to make them happy. When I see a monster who abuses, exploits and harms innocent elders or young ones, I boil up with anger. I wish everyone was well prepared for the monsters in this world — who seek to harm, abuse, exploit the vulnerable. I cry to imagine any child having to go through the events I have seen, and I feel grief knowing that this trauma is still happening.

I have accepted there can’t be any consistent peace. My family is fragile, and I have to learn how to reconcile my own desire to have stability with a very unstable situation. Soon, it will be the 6 year anniversary of a loved ones suicide. I play her favorite songs, and cry thinking about her. I miss her so much. I just want to hug her. I just want to laugh with her. I get angry thinking about the generational trauma that inevitably caused her suicide — a Mother from a broken family who gave birth to children in a broken family, a Mother who was abused and then became abusive herself. An abused child who grew up, became exploited and got addicted to the drugs and alcohol they turned to at a young age to cope. I remember when the idea of suicide came to me in my early twenties. I made the realization I couldn’t do it, because I am deeply worried about the younger kin of my family. I thought, “If I have no hope, then what hope would they have?” I wanted to be strong for them. But sadly, history repeats itself in generational trauma — most don’t step back and learn from the generational trauma, they get consumed by it and become it.

All these feelings, I cannot share so easily. I sometimes feel isolated because my peers consist of normal individuals with relatively normal, decent families. I write on this blog as my outlet.

This is the life of a prostitute. My heart hurts today. I breath deeply to soothe myself. If a client comes, I cannot show my pain. When a friend has a celebration, I cannot show my pain. I put on my smile, and try not to think of the tragic things that have happened. I am sometimes amazed that I haven’t resorted to drugs or other intoxicants to numb myself — I saw so much drug abuse in my family that I am terrified of alcohol and drugs.

That’s why love becomes so special to a person who comes from a background of trauma — this idea that we can relax our heart and let ourselves be vulnerable in a way that (hopefully) won’t hurt us. We crave the things that were denied to us: wholesome love, protection, trust and security. But when love has hurt you from it’s origins (starting from the family), then love is something to be feared.

Be kind to prostitutes…

The reason that many prostitutes take drugs or drink is because their pain/trauma is so unbearable that they want to feel numb. Most prostitutes have post-traumatic-stress-disorder to varying degrees.

When I see the hatred that society and specific people have towards prostitutes, I feel sad to know there is such a lack of understanding and empathy. I feel sad to realize how quick people are to condemn women who resorted to a career that only pulls in women who have no proper protection or care from family.

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PS. This post is less concerning me, but rather expressing the pain I feel for others….

 

Please pray for those who have lost hope, to those who have no protectors, to those who are suffering silently…..my heart cries for you. 

 

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Filed under Dealing with Depression, Emotional Aspects Related to Escorting

Sheherazade Becomes Marginal in a Society that Embraces Apathy

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When you live in a society where shallowness is embraced, there will be a mass following of people who imitate shallowness.

You see, the elite can only thrive with a mass following, by creating a mass appeal, popularity.

The merciless thrive by exploiting the basic human desires, and brand their strategies with the facade of “love” or “humanity.”

This shallowness is a form of turbulence — keeping us distracted, distancing us from Light.

Light can seem invisible with turbulent vision; yet the wise know Light continues to radiate in full spectra in undetected forms.

The wise know to be wary of “charming” promises, as Plato says “Things are not what they appear.”

It is only those placed in liminal states who are able to contrast between discourses.

But you see, our state of being is not a static entity. Circumstances can harden us, circumstances can soften us —

Can one be so optimistic these days?

Something new is occurring in human history, with humans being hardened into objects, irreversibly.

Resistance is strategically kept powerless and marginal.

If only Foucault was alive to see his biopolitics now.

The once optimistic feeling of softening the soul is being negated in a new social transformation who’s future is unknown.

Long ago, Sheherazade softened the heart of King Shariyar. But this was a time when the art of wisdom was embraced by the ruling elite.

Once, people were aware of the dehumanization resulting from objectification.

An objectified human becomes inanimate, lacking substance — yet this obsolescence is embraced!

Now, increasingly, the art of wisdom is silenced, and instead ‘information’ prevails.

Modern education is information, not knowledge — and the marginal are drowning.

A life of simulated shallowness, avarice and merciless individualism is propagated as “the promise” and masks the greedy profit that lies underneath

I have softened the hearts of many men. Though, I am limited in the abundance of human drones.

A drone is taught to valorise surfaces only, like the body; it cannot detect the emotional depth of the soul.

How foolish of me to consider myself a Sheherazade in a society that is morally bankrupt!

You see, in a world where shallowness prevails, the shallow ideals will be rewarded.

Oh, the days when I was an object, I only attracted objects!

Oh, I am fully aware, that if I transformed myself into a walking simulation of stupidity (a shapely ass and big pair of tits as my sole identity), then I will reign popularity.

But you see, now, I refuse to be an inanimate object.

How could anyone be an object once they’ve reached their soul?

I speak in a language that cannot be comprehended so easily,

it will only resonate by those immersed in Love.

My silence speaks this language.

My God, I am so thankful You reign in my heart, radiating Your Beauty

The burning of my heart keeps me from solidifying into a cold, hardened object. I’m melting in Your bliss.

Love will shine, it radiates in all forms to those whose surfaces are still permeable.

-Myself

*The tale of Scheherazade is symbolic in showcasing that wisdom is what makes a human worthy of being. Scheherazade changed King Shahriyar’s murderous vengence towards women, and inevitably softened his heart. How? She used her wisdom, her knowledge — she was not simply an object. The symbolism has relevance to today’s context: When a human is simply an object, devoid of inner depth, they become perceived as insignificant, disposable as an inanimate object. Sadly, it has become a trend in modern societies for people to identify in objectifying manners, thereby neglecting the ripening of their inner beings. This trend is a reflection of the ‘popular’ social values that are advertised by all forms of media/social media. 

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set free

“They have taken us prisoners,

They’ve locked us up.

But that’s nothing…

The worst

is when people –knowingly or not —

carry prison inside themselves”

-Nizam Hikmet

(trans. Sisir Kumar Das 378)

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Do Panjereh

(…)

always been a distance

between your hands and mine.

always with this bitterness

our days and nights have passed.

 *

there is not a very long distance between us, but

(even this short distance) seems so far.

the only connection between you and me

is the kind caressing hands of wind.

*

we are forced to stay captive.

we will stay captive as long as we live.

for us the only way to freedom is death.

as soon as we are set free, we will die.

*

Oh, I wish this wall would fall down

so that you and me will die together

and in another world

we will be able to hold hands, be together.

may be in that other world,

the pain of shunning and hatred wont exists in hearts.

(may be in that new world) between their windows

wont be any barrier of walls.

-Googoosh

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Filed under My Poetry and Others

Three Years Of Escort Diary

Old Man: “From the hot fire of being apart, comes the flame that burns the heart”

Lateef: “That was beautiful, you speak very well.”

Old Man: “These are words from the heart, my son”

-Dialogue from the film Baran (2001).

courtesan-dressingI started this blog three years ago. I started it during an important change in my life. I had just left my engagement. I had just immersed myself into the realm of working independently for the first time, without knowing what to expect. I was also a full-time University student. Three years later, I claim myself as a high-end courtesan, and strangely enough I feel a similar emptiness that I experienced when I started this blog three years ago. But much has changed indeed.

It would be incorrect to say that I’ve been empty and sad continuously. A prostitutes life and experiences witnesses an amalgam of emotions; nothing is static. In the past three years, there has been happiness and many blessings, and I’ve had many beautiful experiences. I am very thankful for them. My heart was grasped by my great lover, the Sheik, whom I wrote about in these past years. And as I had written, our love did eventually hit a brick wall, shattering our hearts. Wounds remain fresh. Burning, I am trying to see the beauty in this pain. For the moment, I honor this love by lonesome tears, finding the torment of separation unbearable, hopeless at times. The beautiful memories are starting to become clouded amongst the pain. And worst, I never showed any sorrow outwardly. Strangely enough, I concealed all of my pain with the facade of pride, thereby masking the tears of honor. In hopeless moments, I wanted all the love to turn into hate. But the truth remains in the heart. God only knows the extent of my heart, the honoring of love through tears.

Here is an incomplete poem I wrote a while ago: 

In the midst of helplessness, I sought to destroy my image.

Perhaps intentionally, I destroyed myself before your eyes,

Tarnishing your perception of my beauty, my grace,

Converting the good memories into hate, regret, despair.

But my intentions were for the sake of survival,

So that you can feel no remorse, so you forget my beauty, forget our bliss.

You can say, “She never loved me. She only loved money. She is happy selling herself. She has other men in her life.”

I painted this false impression.

Yes, in my state of helplessness, I wanted you to believe these things, so you feel no guilt.

For hating me will make your life easier rather than seeing that I loved you with all my heart and life.

Though silent and concealed, God only knows the extent of my honor,

The secrets lay concealed in my heart.

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For this post, I will share some meaningful, poetic lyrics to a song:

madhubala-tawaif

Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya  – When we love, why should we fear?

The following lyrics are from the masterpiece film Mughal E Azam (1960) which is filled with the most enriching Urdu dialogue and songs. The film depicts the legend of Anarkali, the tragic tale of the Mughal Prince Salim and his love Anarkali, a courtesan. In the film, Anarkali sings the song Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya to defend her love with Prince Salim, and also to defend the honesty of her heart (she was accused of deceit). By revealing her heart in this song, she was risking her own life. Her honest heart lead to her imprisonment.  Her love, Prince Salim, also endured all the punishments for the sake of their love. For as the song says, “We have only loved, why should we be afraid?” The Urdu lyrics are powerful and expressed so beautifully. Visually, I love watching the actress Madhubala performs this song so eloquently. Here is a translation of the lyrics:

It is but once that man falls in love with another

In anguish he lives, in anguish he dies

When we have loved, why should we fear?

We have loved, not committed a theft

We have only loved

Why should we be afraid?

I’ll reveal today the secrets that stay in my heart

Death is what the world witnesses

What good is dying a death of sufferance like this?

We have loved, why should we fear?

In desire of him, I shall burn

For love, I shall live

For love, I shall die

Nothing more is my will

Now that I am in love, why must I fear?

Our love will not remain hidden

Everywhere around us are stories of our love

There is nothing that separates us from God

Why should we create barriers between humans?

We have loved, why should we fear?

Watch Madhubala’s beautiful performance of Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya in Mughal E Azam:

On a final note, here is another powerful line that is attributed to Anarkali:

While flowers wither away, “Thorns live not in fear of wilting”

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Filed under Memories, My Poetry and Others

A Courtesans’ Perspective: Fragments of Thought

Lately, I am reluctant to share my thoughts. Sometimes I see no purpose to continue writing at all, but then I’m reminded of how my writings can, perhaps, comfort and help others with similar experiences. Rather than a usual post,  this post contains fragments of my writings in recent months.

nature

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(…) I am immersed in emptiness. Yet this lonesome exile inspires my poems. Had everything remained glorious, would I ever conceive these poems? These thoughts brew endlessly in sleepless nights. If you see beauty in my words, then please know that they are the result of pain and tears.

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(…) At least, with your protective arms, I could forget the world. Forget all my worries. But now, there is no hope. No security. No protective love from you. Everything is gone. I want to escape so desperately. But I can’t. I am on my own. And this debauched society tells people to be ‘independent,’ in an effort to mask their exploitative interests. Yes, I am praised for being ‘independent,’ yet this made me further isolated from warmth and belonging — who did this really benefit after all?

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On “The Impact of Travels” :

(…) When I was in my early teenage years, I remember walking along a narrow lane in a busy city in Northern China. I was starting to become aware of my rapidly blossoming womanly body. My appearance caused the attention of onlookers, who first complimented my appearance and then ask “Where are you from?” Ethnic wise, I can be anything from Turkish to Turkmenistani, so whenever I travel internationally people often assume I am mixed with their local culture. As I walked along, an elder man, who seemed to look like a holy man of some sort, stopped before me. He bowed at my feet and then apparently blessed me. These early instances of superficial admiration started to build my growing sense of self..

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(…) I realize my daily routine is really just feeding someone else’s dream. Countless hours spent studying, reading. And I do this with painstaking joy and curiosity. But why through these elitist institutions? It’s very discouraging when realizing that most of our lives have been strategically tailored to maintaining a system of profit and greed. 

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Poetry:

(…)Let me wither away. Let me be like a corpse, a dead body, attracting all the vultures. Let them feast upon my body until it’s empty. What is the point to remain a half-dead body? 

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“Hopeless Moment” :

I cannot bear to be a burden to anyone anymore, so I stay in my own prison. If I don’t sell my dead body, then my savings will go dwindling, just like my heart. How can an escort remain successful when she is dead inside? My success is tied to my sense of hope — but how does one continue this work when all hope is faded? This smile is so fragile. I cannot bear to be fake, but I have too. 

My ‘sweetness’ is fragile, and I pray that good men will approach me. I fear the bad side of this industry, as I’m far too weak, at this particular moment, to deal with the bad seeds. And sadly, bad seeds are increasingly abundant….

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On “Annoyances of Advertising” :

In a perfect world, I could advertise and only lovely men would contact me. But in reality, my carefully outlined website isn’t enough to deter morons from contacting me and wasting my time. Yes, there are hungry vultures of men who sit on their computers, calling up escorts and inevitably waste our time. They have no sense of courtesy or respect. I ignore these types, yet unfortunately they are part of the process of sifting good potential clients from bad ones. I must say thanks to God, because my clients are lovely men who are deeply respectful. But sadly, an escort has to encounter the BAD to see the GOOD. And even worse, sometimes it’s not so easy to tell the good from the bad. 

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On “The Doctor: an ‘Endowed’ Client” :

(…) I was not used to his endowed thickness. He was too lovely to deny, so I wanted to try. He asked, sweetly, “Are you okay?” I told him, “Yes,” and motioned him to continue pushing it inside me. Whilst this handsome young doctor was attempting to fill me with his thickness, I was fantasizing that my previous lovers were watching me take it. I expressed this fantasy to another client, Mr.Zee, last night. Whilst he penetrated me very passionately, I said, “I wish a group of young handsome men are watching us, would you be shy?”

At times, that’s one of my main fantasies: to have my lovers watch me getting so wet and horny for another handsome man’s thickness. I want my lovers to get angry, yet at the same time see their manhood getting immensely hard. And then, my lover, of course, gets his turn after the other(s) finish. I do not actually consider doing this fantasy, but talking about it can be exciting…

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On “My Heart and Love Cannot be Bought” :

I swear, it is really the most strangest feeling to be extremely sad, hopeless, unhappy whilst simultaneously laying in the arms of a man who thinks you are a Goddess. I can illustrate this by narrating a client I recently saw. This client was of similar origins to myself. He saw me and couldn’t stop praising me. He said I was his dream girl, and he wanted to dedicate the entire appointment to praising me. His flattery was along the lines of “I’ve been dreaming about the most perfect girl all my life, and it is you.” He literally was licking and kissing my body for 2 hours. After he made me orgasm, he insisted that I come again, and again. Eventually, I had to forcefully push his head away from between my thighs. I found his sweetness very lovely, and felt very thankful for it. But I knew what he wanted — he wanted love. And I have no love in my heart to give him, except for the moments he paid for. He reminded me of my ex-fiance, who went to all lengths to make me feel pleased and happy in the most selfless manner. I feel sad that I cannot give him the love he desires. 

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Without love, everything can seem so pointless. Why aspire to anything if life is going to be lonesome and meaningless? And ironically, there is love all around me. I do have men who love and admire me, offering me the life I dream about. But I do not love them. I cannot force myself to love someone. I want nobody else. I have no desire to meet others. My heart is in exile. 

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Poetic Thoughts:

Let me burn. Let me burn until there’s nothing left. I swear, I am only a body now. My soul has departed. Like Pakeezah called herself, I am just “a dead body.” I am a beautiful body, who’s dead inside. I am painted with kohl and red lipstick, appearing like an elegant beauty of exotic regions. Once, this beautiful body and face was filled with light within, but now, everything is gloom.

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More on “My heart and love is not for sale” :

(…) Lately, I’ve met too many single clients who are trying to get a relationship. Most are humble and respectful about it, which doesn’t bother me. But some are arrogant, who mistakenly think they can impress me with their money and so-called ‘success.’ To the arrogant types, I feel like saying, “I’ve had much BETTER than you. I’d rather DIE than settle with you.” Yes, that’s extremely harsh, but honestly sometimes that is what I feel. One overly-confident client asked, “If a man supported you financially, would you be with him?” And I said, “Only if I loved him, but otherwise no.” No, my love is not for sale. 

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I am back in hell. Silenced. I do not dare to share my pain with clients, or anyone. If I wanted to, I can be loved and cared for. But I don’t want to be near somebody I don’t love. I’d rather sulk alone. I don’t want pity. The only one who can console me is the one who just died. 

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(…) and these nights drenched in tears, surrounded by abundance, has made me realize the most invaluable purpose of life: God (love). 

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On “Mourning” :

It feels like I’ve spent these weeks in mourning. Mourning, yet there is no comfort in the sense of closure. Finally, I went to a place of death, where there is only mourning. And I cried. I was shocked at myself, as I almost never cry in front of strangers. Everyone around me was crying, and somehow I absorbed their pain too. But for the most, my tears were in vain, as I was mourning the death of my own love. And how does one mourn when their heart is shattered? How does one just continue in life? Life can never be the same. 

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Pain mixed with Pleasure, Loneliness, Passion, Hopelessness and Misery…

People assume its just so easy to exit from the sex industry. The financial rewards and lifestyle are so attractive compared to other alternatives, so quitting is often met with severe withdrawals. There are many other factors making it difficult to exit. There are no real alternatives to exit the sex industry. There are no social support networks that eliminate the FACTORS that placed women in prostitution — how can we eliminate the ills of society? There will always be inequality in a capitalistic system — it’s comprised of the “haves” and the “have nots.”

Most escorts, including myself, fall in love and hope their lover will ‘protect’ them, but that’s not addressing the entire problem. Not all escorts want to quit, nor do all escorts want to be dependent on one man. Our problems can be multiple: the addiction to money, the stigma, and lack of social acceptance, the desire for love/acceptance. There are services for various addictions, but where is the help for women addicted to selling their bodies?

Another problem is denial. For years, I felt the sex industry didn’t actually impact my happiness, I felt above it’s implications. Initially, I thought the money could solve all my worries, but then I realized my shallowness was leaving me feeling empty . Even worse, I gained so much pride (ego) from making fast-money. I felt having money and autonomy would override my pain.  Clients further gave me the impression I was in “good shape” because they always compliment on how I was so ‘normal.’ Many clients enjoyed me because they thought the industry didn’t affect me. Yet it’s all fake, and lies. My ego was a mask, hiding the empty soul inside. I made sure that people saw I was confident, while on the inside I felt misery, insecurity and hopeless. What causes this pain is the stigma, because we are marginalized for not conforming to the norms.

I am accustomed to tuning out my emotions because of this job. I am a master at being fake — faking a smile, faking happiness  — it’s become normal to me. I hide my pain, but sometimes its unbearable that I just retreat from everything and everyone. We cannot run away from our emotions…they will never go away unless we deal with them.

I am scared to trust. I constantly fear abandonment, rejection. I retreat before I can be neglected. I use my work (prostitution) as a method that allows me to ‘profit’ from being neglected. Men can use my body at their advantage and neglect me at the same time. Yet somehow, the money is supposed to compensate for this act of neglect. Basically, prostitution is saying it is OKAY to neglect someone if you pay them off. I make a lot of money to be used. In my case, however, it isn’t as terrible as I am making it seem….I am treated respectfully, thankfully. Clients do not hurt me physically, and in reality my clients are extremely polite and respectful of my rules as a courtesan. I do not blame clients either, because not all clients have the intention of neglecting me. Many men tip generously, and many feel their money will ‘help’ me.  However, the money does NOT erase the emotional turmoil of being hated by mainstream society. Now I finally understand the cliche of “having all in the money in the world, yet all material things become meaningless.”

Some clients are aware of this disconnect, which also affects them. I’ve encountered many clients who, if they had the chance, would love to be with me and make me happy.  After all, my ex was my client, and he wanted to protect me. As mention, there are a minority of clients who are fearful of rejection themselves: These clients are looking for belonging and THEY, themselves, are rejected by prostitutes. Ironically, I also have to reject and indirectly neglect men. I encounter clients who have feelings for me, yet I am not interested at all. Many of my clients want love and companionship, not just sex.  While I appreciate my admirers, I do not love them. I have to remind them that I cannot get involved with them beyond business. The only exceptions has been my ex, the Sheik, and a few others whom I felt a connection too. I can share my body for money, but I cannot share my soul so easily. I feel sad when I think about all the lovely men I meet who want something that I cannot give them outside the confines of business: love. As an escort, I try my best to make good-hearted clients feel good while we are together. Now, it might seem understandable why one of my friends jokingly referred to me as the “Mother Teresa” of prostitutes.

Yet for the Sheik, I am just a woman on lease — a temporary wife. Many Saudis in modern times hire maids, cleaners, drivers, and temporary ‘pleasure’ women like myself. Sometimes I feel like his lover on lease. Yet he claims to love me more than his own life, swears by God and his mother’s life. I do believe he loves me, given he treats me exceptionally well. But his version of love is conditional, and moreover he doesn’t know the importance of love. Some Saudis have this mentality: that money buy can anything. Money buys maids, drivers, and sex….and its  “okay.” But how many Saudis feel empathy for the lives of their workers ? Do they feel guilt or remorse? I hardly doubt it. Sadly, many are far too “Arab-centric”….what doesn’t concern them is not important. I don’t think my Sheik has this mentality, but I’ve encountered many Gulf men who are hardly concerned with the fate of their workers.

The irony of it all is that he, my love, treats me better than himself. He buys whatever I want, and doesn’t buy for himself. He does whatever I want, and all he wants in return is my love. He has designated me as the Queen…and he even loves if I refer to him as my “slave.” He is, for the moment, completely devoted to me in both words and action. Yet I must always remind myself: this is love on a lease. He may treat me like his Goddess now, but the reality is he does not think about my future. In his mentality, he thinks giving me lots of money is helping me, and somehow, he feels his generosity can compensate for neglecting me later on.  Some Saudi men justify temporary love, because temporary love has been propagated as ‘halal’ by their state officials. It is sanctioned in state discourses by way of Misyaar and Muta (temporary) marriages. Sadly, many men exploit these laws for their selfish motives. There is nothing ‘halal’ about neglecting a woman, and thinking it can be fixed by financial compensation.

I hide my pain. It’s the fault of the ego I developed from making fast money .. Yet it’s all a facade. I am happy with him, yet it’s followed by unhappiness when I am alone and reflect on everything. I go out and put on my ‘happy face” but when I retreat I feel the wound . I am a deep wound concealed by layers of superficial bliss.

Sometimes the pain unbearable. No one can understand because I portray myself as strong and wise. But the truth is I’m so damaged inside . I don’t pity myself … But sometimes I feel envious of those who had easy lives. Nobody would care even if I did pity. They will say I choose to sell myself and that I could have made better choices.

The Saudi double standard. A stab to my heart… That it’s okay to use me….how does he feel about it all?! A man who claims to love me yet has no intention to marry. It’s selfish.

Do Escorts Enjoy their Lives? Maybe on the outside. We portray our lives as great, luxurious, perfect , but it’s concealing the pain that brought us to serving men we don’t love. Of course, however, many of our clients are also serving us — so it would be incorrect to say all prostitutes are being degraded. Nonetheless, our pride forces us to hide the pain. We are forced to defend our ‘choices’….and defend the lives we made for ourselves…and deny the truth to ourselves. Short term happiness, and long-term depression. Bouts of happiness, followed by retreats of deep thinking and questioning. What sort of happiness did this bring me?

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Filed under Dealing with Depression, Emotional Aspects Related to Escorting, The Sheik, Trying to Understand Why I Sell Myself