Sex: All A Girl is Good For

South Beach. Unique kept talking on and on about. How much money we were going to make. She and Q had given me my working name, Snow. Not at all racially directed. Not at all.
Unique said we were going to be able to get a car, and a little dog, and eat out at fancy places like Red Lobster. We were going to get bikinis and exercise on the beach, and make wads of cash.
It didn't work out that way though. Q wouldn't let us work for less than eighty dollars a trick. He didn't want us to be 'cheap hoes'. This made it extremely difficult to find obliging men willing to pay. More strenuous still to find these men who actually had money. Or enough of it. There were more than a few times I had to turn men down because they wouldn't pay up enough. However, this was when I began to perform various sexual acts inside of client's cars. It was weird at first - no, it was always weird. It never got normal. It never got better.
I came back to Q at the designated time, and at the meetup point (McDonalds) and he was pissed at me for not making enough money. However, he was much more angry at Unique. She had made him a net total of zero dollars. Nothing...she said it wasnt a good street to be working, and not a good time either. Q told me I did a good job, but blasted, in a low and frightening tone, at Unique that 'the new white girl' was showing her up. And she was getting lazy. I was doing a better job than she was, and I was fresh, and she was supposed to be his 'bottom girl'.
We got some food at McDonalds, after I turned my money over to Q, and he told me to make sure I ate enough, since I only got a parfait. He didn't want to see me lose 'that beautiful ass' I had. If only I'd stop getting these confusing signals from people! Was I too fat? Too thin? Too white? Too tall? Too short? I didn't know what anybody wanted of me or my body, except tht I was good for one thing.
I was good for having sex. Sex was what I was good for. Everything else was meaningless, and if I wasn't servicing with my body, I might as well give up because I was of no other use in society.
I didn't realize that it's mindset had formed in me, but it would stay with me for the rest of my teenage years.
For the rest of the day, after an insult to my fanny pack from Q, I continued seeking out men, finding them in the strangest of ways. Some of them frightened me. All of them disgusted me.
Later I would find that I couldn't stomach some of what this job called for. In the meantime, however, I harassed men, calling out to them, "Hey baby, wanna have a good time?" flashing one of the smiles no one could turn away from, and had to at least respond to...even if they couldn't oblige me with what I needed - their money.
Sometimes I think about those times, and wish that someone would have just seen my need and instead of having sex with me, would have paid me the full amount just to sit and talk. I could have used that.That's really all I wanted; someone to talk to. Someone who would listen to my pain.
But I had no one. I was missing.

Missing. That's a big word for one kid. I didn't even think about that...but I really missed home. And I was very, very scared.