After prostituting for the first time, my self preservation instincts failed me in most respects. I began having strange conversations with Van and Mike who worked the front desk at the Camelot Inn, and even with the homeless 'Caveman.
Gotti came back, after raping me and stealing my virginity away from me. It was nighttime, and very dark and quite cold, as it was only April.
He knocked on my door and I let him in. We sat for a while, and he let me play with his phone. I listened to Avril Lavigne's 'What The Hell', and just sort of zoned. He said he could hook me up with a phone, and I thought that was cool, but doubted his ability to do so. And I knew I couldn't afford one.
He began to come onto me, and I told him that when he slept with me it was my first time - I had tried to tell him before, but even now he really seemed doubtful, but also seemed to believe me because of how difficult is was for him to have sex with me. Looking back that could also be attributed to the lack of lube used, but apparently nobody in those areas uses lubrication during intercourse. Very sexually uneducated - especially when it comes to consent.
Gotti had me undress, and we had sex for a long time, and I think that a lot of men think that females are sex toys, and that if the legs can bend behind the head, than they should bend behind the head. This was painful in more than a few ways, and I kept fidgeting and twisting, trying to get out for under his grasp, but he was too strong, and too heavy, and I told him to stop. Many times. All he told me, every time, was that if I was going to do this to make money I had better learn to take it. And that's what he kept repeating; "just take it". And when I was moaning, from agony, and not the pleasure he must have perceived, he just told me to be quiet, whispering for me to hush up.
Finally, and finally seemed to take all night, he got up and left. I fell asleep and slept so deeply that I could've been happy in that place forever; curled in a fetus position, tear stained face, but a deep, dreamless slumber.
The conversations with the motel managers began to lead me towards new 'clients'. In one night they hooked me up with at least three different guys. One I got out of the way quickly, and don't remember much about. Then there was a guy who was different from the rest...he wasn't my client - I was a potential client of his. He worked in a porn company (supposedly) down the street, and wanted to check me out. Or try me out, moreover. It was humiliating, and demoralizing. He assessed me, and told me I had a 'good ass for a white girl'. And then asked me if I liked to exercise. It was the same hate I had heard my whole life. He told me I would have to lose weight, but keep 'that ass'. When he talked about exercising I just imagined beautiful images of running along the beach. Peace. Tranquility. But in that room was no peace or tranquility. He 'tried me out' and said that I would need to learn some things, but it might work. He left and I felt so unattractive. I felt like a whale.
I took the steps downstairs and Caveman said there was a client he knew of down the street in another motel. He took me there. It was an elderly black man, surrounded by tiny bags of cocaine. He was very thin, and I tried to do my job. I kept trying to get the money out of him - but it wasn't working. He was too high to even get an erection, and he blamed it on me, saying I wasn't doing my job right, I wasn't doing it right, I was too unnatractive, I wasn't a good whore. It was my fault. I thought it was my fault. This memory disgusts me more than a lot of them do; I got forty dollars out of him in the end, but it wasn't worth it. I missed the porno guy who came back for me, supposedly with at least a thousand dollars for me. That's probably bullshit, but in those moments, I felt as though I'd missed out on a huge opportunity because of a disgusting, high, old man who I couldn't turn on. If I had gone with Mr. Porno, I may never have mad was most likely one of those people who ironically saved my life just by existing. No one can ever know how they are going to figure into someone's story, or in what strange way they are going to help someone, even just by being there and being alive. In a lot of ways I wish I hadn't had that experience, but if I hadn't I may have been somewhere terrible by now, or dead.
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