Blood Is Thicker Than Water?

I wrote a short poem about my estranged sister some time ago.

I wish we could’ve got along,
I wish you weren’t such a bitch
I wish you were much happier,
And not an envious witch
I wish you weren’t a know it all,
Just admit you don’t know shit
Why hide your weaknesses?
I see through your wall
Artificial and fake, right to the core!

Ugh. I tried.
I tried cos I have this deep sense of family ingrained in me.

Blood is not thicker than water guys. If your family sucks dick, just stop trying to be around that negativity, just because.
Just because you’re family, doesn’t mean you’re entitled to giving/lending money to your family members. Just because you’re family, doesn’t mean you can be a freeloader, just because you’re family, doesn’t mean you own or owe anything to your family !!

I’m known as the super private person among the females in the family.
It hurts them that I don’t share everything with them, and they don’t know what I get up to. They think I’m the strange one of them all, and that I on purposely exclude myself from the family cos I’m a selfish bitch.

I hide cos they’ll think they own some part of my income. That I should help and support them cos “we’re family man, you gotta do the right thing”



Back In The Escort Game

I never thought I’d get back into this.


Who knew that tonight, I’d be sitting here chilling with someone I really love, in a cosy bedroom doing our own thing, and with a gorgeous little kitty keeping us company… When just 10 minutes ago, I came back from sucking a guy off for cash.
When my partner knew right well where I’ve been, but nonetheless, greets me with a hug and a kiss.

Nope. Never in my right mind I’d think I’d be this content tonight.

Rewinding back to 2 years ago, I quit because the money was getting shit, I didn’t like the people I worked with, I didn’t like the way they ran things, and…. I wanted to fall in love. After being single for so long, and having a bunch of meaningless encounters, you get lonely.

I wanted a spark. I wanted to love, and I wanted to be loved.

I had this fucked thing in my head thinking that all the guys that genuinely liked me judged me for what I did, and treated me different.
So I wanted to try and lead a normal life, and so hopefully I can find someone nice, and I didn’t have to hide what I did all the time. So when that dumbass question “what do you do for work” comes up, I don’t have to fidget, freak out, and do the ums and ahs about what I do.
Didn’t turn out too well though… I don’t think I can go and do something normal, like work in a coffee shop, or sell clothes. I’d feel like I’m wasting my time.
Why? When I can get over the stigma of prostitution, and see it as just another job?
Like most people, I really don’t know what I want to do, and fuck knows where I’m going in life.

So I may as well save myself 30 hours a week doing something I don’t really want to, dealing with people I don’t really want to deal with, and focus more on my hobbies, and find what my passions really are.

It feels so empowering being my own boss. And to have found a partner that’s so supportive, and seeing it as just another job as well. That is something special.

It takes someone really special to be able to love a whore.

Nowhere 2015

I was waiting to see a girl named Luna do her poledance performance at this raunchy camp. My acid high was just beginning to take full effect, and I was sitting, buzzing, and enjoying the performances as I waited patiently.
I suddenly heard from a distance, music beats that I’ve never heard before.. It was very bassy, unpredictable, non-monotonous unlike shitty techno.. I didn’t know what it was!
I couldn’t sit still, and got a bit restless (I could even say aroused, cos I just wanted to fuck the music it was that good) I calmed myself down and told myself that the night is still very young, events were just starting. I should just relax and enjoy the show… Eventually I’ll get to dance.
The performers leading up to Luna were pretty entertaining though. I had a butch lesbian gyrating to Bad To The Bone throw me a rubber dog toy filled with what’s meant to be makeshift cum. Luna’s performance, was pretty anti-climactic. Being an ex stripper, I knew what a real pole performance looked like. But I came to watch, and I came to support. After her performance finished, I left to find the source of this sexy music…
The music lead me to a giant pair of spinning hamster wheels, with blasting fire!! Holy fuck! I was starting to shiver with excitement

To make things even wetter in my pants, I discovered that this stage was run by 4 gorgeous Czech guys.

I danced all night till day while watching the waxing moon slowly disappear with the night. I even got to chill with the cool kids. Orange vodka, hash, and cherry liquor was passed around. I even got to play with their fire remote control that lets you choose which outlet sprays fire (they referred to it as a Nintendo controller).

When the blazing sun really hit us at midday, 2 Czech guys remained.
One attractive older one with a red mohawk, and another that was younger and less attractive. The original guy I liked had a girlfriend, and didn’t speak English at all. He liked me too, which was a shame. So left waaay earlier.

At the end I got with the younger – less attractive one. We’ll call him P. Dog
He asked for a kiss, and I was hesitant at first, but then thought about the loss I made with the guy that I came to the festival with. A guy I’d been previously seeing. He got a new girlfriend, but decided to sleep with me anyway. Once we arrived, he fucked off and didn’t even want to hang out platonically.
Once our lips touched, I was instantly hooked. There was an energy about him that drew me in. He was charming, had a way with words, intelligent and the producer of the sexy music that drew me towards his stage in the first place.

Whether I got laid or not, I had the best fucking time of my life.
Love love love loved it.

Such an unforgettable experience, and ever so grateful that I got to go to something like this in my early twenties.

Take me there again. And again. And again. And again. And again….

A Poem About Some Guy

Pull me close and shag me senseless
Grab my hair and dazzle my senses
Lick your lips and show me the way
The way you do, the way you sway
An afternoon sun, dances in the air
As he smiles with his eyes, and gives me his share
The share of his love, his touch and his mouth
The touch of my skin, as he moves down south
Back and forth we move with ease
Day or night, let’s do as we please
Blankets to bed, blankets to floor
Pillow talk pillow talk, share me your stories, and more
I’ll play with your dreads, but not with your heart
Trust this girl, she’s good from the start
An innocent demeanor, of giggles and fun
A cute girl in pink, he knows of her none
Little does he know, there’s eggshells about
If he learns of my tales, I think he might pout
So let’s take a detour, to the lighter side of things
Where I’ll show you my moves, and the love I can bring
In my piece of heaven, we can hug all day
Where you can touch me all over, and go all the way


I’ve written so many people out of my life once I learn how they really are.
There’s always something that ticks me off about someone, then find they’re not worth having them in my life. Do you have an all “about me” attitude? Are you negative all the time? Overindulge in complaining and talking about other people? Are you very flaky? Are you fake & superficial? Are you always asking me for things? Ugh. I don’t want to talk to you again.
I’m not miss perfect, but I can be TOO nice. Sometimes I can’t say no, cos I don’t know how. I can be a bit of a pushover which I deeply hate about myself…
But I’m taking baby steps on improving. Maybe if I was stronger, I’d still have some of these people in my life cos they’d respect me more and not try to take advantage of me.

But fucking god damn, how hard is it to be nice and show a little respect/consideration?

I had this last friend that came to town for a visit, and one of the first things he did when we hung out was getting me to sign up for his marketing survey bullshit. I was clearly reluctant, and initially refused, but he did not. He wanted me to sign up so he can earn a couple dollars off me through his referral. Ick.
He also makes really boring art (low quality generic landmark photography), but went on about it for most of the night like it’s the best thing ever. I’m trying to lighten up the mood by showing him something I found hilarious, and he starts shoving mundane postcards of his art in my face. Come the fuck back down to earth.
I was glad he took a flight home early so I don’t have to see him again.

I wonder if I could ever be brave enough to find some good friends. Friends I can have quality hangs with, instead of waiting for degenerates to pick me.

I also wonder if I could ever be brave enough to be assertive.

I just need to get out more.

Dear Dr. Mario

My saviour,
My agony uncle,
My therapist.

Dr Mario beams me his finest smile, and takes all my thoughts in and makes me feel better when I’m down. Just look at him heroically throwing that magic pill of happiness.

Jesus fucking christ this WordPress blog was hard to set up.
The look and layout of my personal/private blog isn’t even up to par with my standards, but it’ll do.

Who am I?

I’m your old school (dare I say a mentally old?) bitch, that can’t even work a damned blogging site. I may as well be my parents.
I love writing. I absolutely do. But technology is defs taking over, and I find that I can truly be private here on the internets. I write about (not too) personal shit.
Funny because nothing is REALLY private on the internet here, but I can conceal myself a lot better here than having all my thoughts in a book, laying around somewhere in my house.

I also use quite a bit of coarse language, it gives me great relief, and it’s a great way to express myself.
I’m also pessimist, but I force myself to be an optimist. I don’t enjoy being upset, yet I still dwell on the fact that shit’s going to be fucked, or it can be fucked.. But 8/10 it always turns out great. Awesome. Sweet and wonderful. It’s like the older I get, the more stressed I get.

I’m also a hooker, and this is my private and personal diary.