abuse, broken heart, control, dating, relations, feelings, depression, divorce, escort, sugar, violence

Fairy-Tale with Violence

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She had a noble face with high cheekbones and pale complexion. Dark eyes and long black hair in contrast to ideally clean white skin gave that magical look that enchanted everyone. Girls fought for her friendship, guys throw houses, businesses, and families at her feet. She had memberships at almost every elite country club and ski resort. She confidently carried her exceptional status turning the nose up at others who were unlucky enough to work daily to pay the bills.

Once a month she wore professional make up early in the morning. “I had to see my make-up artist prior leaving my house, need to cover up the bruises”, – a light shrug of sculptured shoulders and a stunning laughter. Her glowing skin looked almost snow white under layers of concealers and a make-up foundation.

First two days are the worst for the black eye, hard to hide even for my visagiste, and she is a real professional; I wear dark glasses, – on such days she wore them day and night. Everyone followed the trend after seeing her in brandy sunnies at one of private sports event.  – I had to accompany my husband right after we argued. Sunnies are my saviors when make-up does not help.   – Her voice was melodious; the manners were sweet and slightly condescending.

And you were not even allowed to stay home and heal after he beat the crap out of you,  – she shuddered at my curiosity, my response was too vulgar and direct for her upper-class mindset.

Technically I could, but he would have taken his hooker instead, and I …., – she paused to sip some cappuccino, – I am fighting to save the family. We have kids.

– Good luck,  – I could feel her pain behind thick layers of make-up and seemingly nonchalant IT-girl demeanor.

Her lifestyle was a dream for every struggling girl forced to work to raise kids. She neither killed herself 40 hours a week nor spent sleepless nights when the children got sick. Her husband provided enough, she had money.

I feel safe home. We are rarely by ourselves. Our kids, sitters, cleaners, his mom and friends…. I have enough time and space to do what I want without him around.

 – How do you guys find time to fight?

 – Well, – she took a deep breath and tucked shiny locks of hair behind the ears, – two weeks ago he found out I cheated on him with his friend and got furious.   

But you’ve been in bruises for over 3 years now…

 – And?  – her voice suddenly lost the usual lazy carelessness, – my life is noone’s business. We have a happy marriage, a very happy marriage.    

Her gestures were suggestive of “everything is fine, my life is a life-long dream, unachievable for losers like you”. The whole world was at her feet, her life was a perfect fairy-tale for every poor girl from a low-income community.  The abusive part of the happy-ending story was thoroughly camouflage behind tons of make-up and prescribed anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers.

She went through long and desperate years of jumping from penis to penis prior getting the marital proposal from her husband. The door into the world of signature clubs and luxury resorts opened, she acquired careless demeanor and refined manners sinking her veneer teeth and well-manicured claws into the lifestyle she had been craving for all her life. Domestic violence was never an issue; she would die for the right to keep the place in the niche of wealth and prestige.

Her husband finally left and froze her bank accounts. She was kicked out of the house with nothing; his attorneys filed for the full custody of their children.

 – I do not know what to do, he took everything, I do not even have a vehicle, – her voice was usually calm when she called me from the local crisis center where she was brought by the police after overdosing on her sleep medications.

Do you believe in God? – it was the only response that came to my mind.

I actually do, – her laughter was sweet-sounding. I knew she was feeling better.

Her husband was there with five bodyguards when I came to visit her in the hospital.

How is she doing, is she ok?  – he was worried, I assured him that she was fine. For the first time in my life I met someone surrounded by hired protection services. One of guys looked hot, I gave him a smile and blushed when he smiled back.

She was discharged that day, beautifully pale and sensuously fragile like a China doll, her back was straight, her head was up. I saw him helping her into the car, they left quietly and quickly.

The divorce was cancelled, she went to Switzerland for 6 months to treat the diagnosed depression.

When she came back she was fresh and rested.

You look really good,  – I was glad to see her happy.

I am not sure if I told you, – her smile was stunning, her postures were magnetic, –  I found a new make-up girl, and she does miracles. I finally have someone who knows how to mask all my bruises.  

 

 

 

 

broken heart, escort, feelings, love

Slut, Escort Girl, Difference

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         Jim says I am slutty, – I stretched in the chaise lounge, turned my face towards the sunset, and closed my eyes. Big swimming pool area, evening quietness, and warm jasmine tea added coziness to Heather’s new house. She had a great taste for places and for males; the house was chic, the boyfriend was established, generous, and always far away. My attempts to find someone to take care of me kept ending up in an emergency room with a nervous breakdown. Heather was a professional. She mercilessly drained the pockets prior moving on to a wealthier penis.
 
           Does it bother you, Vixen?
          I do not care
          It bothers me though, –  her pensiveness surprised me, I had never observed anything like this about her before.
          Why does it bother you?
          A man is calling you a whore, and you do not care? Really?, – the melancholy in her voice sounded ridiculous; an escort girl was trying to teach old-school morals. I was doing my best not to laugh in her face.
          Excuse my French, friend, aren’t you f*cking for money?
          Escort is different from being a slut, – her response was firm and assertive, – escort is a job, it has nothing to do with being promiscuous
          I have feelings for more than one person,  – I breathed in the serenity of the Florida evening and continued, – If the societal matrix supports monogamous possessiveness, it is not my problem. No one is gonna tell me how many people I should fall for, and how I should feel if I love more than one guy or one girl. By the way, I am bisexual, are you going to lecture me on this as well?
          Vixen, there is a difference between a slut and an escort girl. They pay well to see me, and you are a free cum dumpster for them. I have a high-paying job, and you waste yourself on your Greg or Jim, or um… what was the name of that crazy guy who jerks off in the on-call room, Andrew?
          Adam, we are just friends
          Right, – her sarcasm did not annoy me. The evening was too quiet and refreshing to get upset or angry.  – I would be offended if someone called me a slut, and you do not care. This is what bothers me.
          Heather, – I burst into laughter, – Heather, my dear, have you ever been in love?
          Not yet, are you making fun of me? – she got angry, her iron self-control was crushing   
          Actually yes, what you are saying is funny, and you are hypocritical, and…. and callous, yep. both hypocritical and callous
          What do you mean?
          Do you have feelings for Greg?
          No, nothing, it was just a side job, I thought we already discussed it.
          Did you have any feelings for me? You knew I love him, you knew -I knew that he will pay you to f*ck him that weekend. And you still went with him. Do you think it may cause me pain?
          Were you in pain, Vixen?
          No, it did not bother me much. Do you have any feelings for me? You state I am your best friend.
          You know, – she paused, looking into nowhere, – I felt disgust, he was on the phone texting you right after I gave him a blowjob. You deserve someone better.
          OK, you are not callous, only hypocritical. You sleep with all these guys, and state that you are not promiscuous.
          Like I said, it is just a job.
          The difference is, Heather, – I was wiping away the tears of laughter, – the difference is that I build my life on feelings. I can open up or entirely freeze, I can laugh or suffer, but I do not go to bed with someone who disgusts me, I do not communicate with disgusting people. You have to deal with people you consider horrible, you do it cold-heartedly, you rationalize it. And you worry what other people say. The word “slut” really bothers you. I do not care, you do. I feel – you do not allow yourself to feel. I live – You hide behind the gated community. I do not need friends, I am happy by myself and with myself – You hate being alone, otherwise you would not have invited me over after having sex with someone I love.
 
She was looking through me, she obviously was not happy that she had started this conversation.
         
         –  Heather, I do not see any difference between a slut and an escort girl. All I see is a difference between you and me. Now, let’s go inside, it is getting chilly.
          Yes, yes, – she was relieved to finish our discussion. She looked sad, I felt sorry for her.
  
dominance, escort, feelings, intimacy, love, sex, sugar life

Addiction to intimacy. Co-dependence.

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–          You will never be able to get me off your mind, Vixen. I reached down deep inside you and stamped myself there, you belong to me
–          Sounds scary, Jim, sounds like witchcraft
–          It is not witchcraft, it is love, stupid.
–          Whatever
–          You will be back, you will f*ck me again, I know
–          You are way too confident
–          You want me, and you need me, stop spinning in circles and admit it, then make love to me like you should be doing
–          May I decide for myself what I want?
–          You want me
–          Get out, – I was laughing and crying at the same time. I knew I won’t come back, but waking up every morning I felt the connection was there, the tight link I was unable to break. Every morning started with the painful I gotta find another excuse for not seeing him; he used me as a cum dumpster hiding it behind the fake I love you Vixen, be mine, and I will make your life so much better     
–          When shall I see you again?
–          I do not know, Jim, – I could not firmly say Never, I wanted and hated him being burning hot and freezing cold at the same time.
When Heather asked me if he was at least a good lover, I certainly shook my head no, – He only thinks about himself
–          But you love him
–          I hate myself for it, he must be a warlock, he must be doing witchcraft on me
–          You need help my dear, – she leaned forward to give me a hug, I shrank back. Greg paid her, she was with him, she knew I loved him, she knew I was in pain, but she kept acting like my best friend, this was f*cking unbelievable.
–          You are psychotic, anorexic, and slutty, – Jim was furious, I did not care
–          Let’s end this than
–          I do not know Vixen, for a very smart man I am, I guess when it comes to you I am just stupid
I had nothing to say, I dumped him three long months ago, but every morning started with his routine “How are you” texting, and I kept responding “I am fine, I miss you”over and over again
escort, feelings, Heather, Jim, love, sex

Only Love Matters. My Escort Girl and Myself Again

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–          Why don’t you give Jim another chance?Heather’s chopsticks stopped mixing wasabi with soy sauce as she looked up at me.
–          I will betray myself by coming back
–          How? – She carefully picked up a tuna roll with her chopsticks and dipped it into the soy sauce    
–          When you break up with someone, you are hopeful that your time will come, and one day you will meet your match. You would not dump someone you really care about unless there is a reason.
–          Ok… – her skin had that innocent porcelain freshness. Eating dead fish with sodium and having sex with several partners on a daily basis did not seem to stain her baby-doll beauty. Despite the sleepless weekend with Greg, she looked fresh, outrageously glowing, simply gorgeous.   
–           If you decide to reunite, it only means that you have given up on yourself and stopped believing that you deserve love. You are basically telling yourself, ‘I do not deserve any better, anyways, it is better to be with my ex than lonely’. You become a traitor and a liar. You start coming up with millions of fake reasons why you should be with someone you do not love. And at the end, you force yourself to forget the true reasons for your previous disentanglement, and you reunite. I do not want to be a traitor, Heather
–          I agree with you, – she put the chopsticks aside and reached for a small clay tea kettle.
     Every move of her well-defined body was suggestive of chic and grace. She was a beautiful woman, an objectively beautiful woman. Even the call girl title added something special to her image, something mysteriously nonchalant and quietly charismatic. – Are you still in love with Greg?

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I was supposed to have resentment for both of them, I should have hated her and him, I should have reported her for prostitution and blocked his phone number. But I was not offended, neither jealous nor angry.     


          Tell me Vixen, are you still in love?
–          You know, I am
–          What has he done to you my dear? He is greedy, selfish, he is really bad in bed.
–          Love is love, I can’t do much about it
–          Aren’t you betraying your self-worth?
–          Not really
–          How come?

I knew she would not get it. My mind could not get it, I stopped trying to understand myself long ago. Going with the flow was the only way to deal with my mind-blowing inconsistency and ridiculousness.

 

escort, feelings, life, love, loyalty, relations, sugar life

Escort Girl, Greg, Meeting in Cheretto

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I love Cheretto, it is quietly private, insanely upscale, and extremely elitist. I love its snobby atmosphere, dim lighting, and hidden but obvious discrimination by status, income, and power. Open for members only. The application for the membership gets politely denied with a seemingly valid and politically correct reason after 3 to 5 years of being on the waiting list. The reminiscent of a library décor, comfy leather seating, and highly maintained and beautifully fit females, quietly waiting for their partners to finish lunch-and-laptop break. It is very safe and relaxing here in the atmosphere of dominance, exclusivity, and selective privilege. Mike got me the membership long ago. A weed among purebreds, I always feel happy to pause my crazy squirrel-cage-run and immerse in a different reality, in the world of veneer smiles and private jets.
 
I was enjoying my loneliness and sparkling lemon water, when I heard Heather’s laughter. I looked up, I saw her and Greg at the bar. My first thought was “Cheretto is getting cheap, how could they possibly allow someone in scrubs here?” But he was with my Heather, who had the membership through one of her sugar daddies. They were talking, she was laughing, white tight shirt on her perfect boob-job. She was stunning as usual.
 
Surprisingly, I felt nothing. His scrubs just bothered me, that place was way too refined for his stupid hospital uniform. Heather finally turned around, our eyes met. I watched her hurriedly leaning in close to him; I could imagine what she was whispering in his ear, since he turned around as well and waved at me. I waved back and shifted my gaze to the lemon water. I knew she would come to my table. I felt her presume as she sat down and gave me a hug.
 
          Hi Vixen
          Hi, – I kept staring at the bubbly water in my glass
          Vixen
          What?
          You gotta understand, it is just a job
I reluctantly glanced up at her face. She looked worried and sincerely concerned.  
          He is a greedy shit-heard, your words, Heather
          Correct,  – she had to lower her voice since Greg kept staring at us from the bar area, – but he offered a great allowance this weekend
          Heather, – The lemon water was ice-cold and caused a sharp pain in the both temples, – he is just a surgeon, you are way too expensive for this. When did you break up with your Tokyo guy?
          I did not break up with him, Greg is just a side-job. And yes, he is cheap and cannot afford me, he just wanted to spend one weekend, the pay is good, and I agreed. It’s only business
          I see
          Are you mad? Are we still friends? You are my best friend, Vixen
          Do me a favor
          Anything
          Do not take him here any more, this is the only place where I feel safe and happy, don’t ruin it
          I won’t I promise. He will pay, and we will leave
          Ok
          Vixen
          What?
          Are we still friends?
          You gotta go, he is waiting, I know Greg, he won’t pay for the time you are here with me
          Are we still friends? – her bitchy upscale gloss was gone, she looked helplessly crappy, I felt disgusted
          Go
 
They left quietly and quickly. That night I got his text. “I am in bed with a call girl, thinking about f*cking you from behind” . I deleted the message and turned the TV on.