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I decided that I will not make as much effort to hide. I will not say who I am or I will offer clues to discover that I have to discover. At the end we all end up coming to the surface, as the bloated corpses of the drowned who swallows the sea. I will continue telling my story, I'm behind her, looking to learn something about myself, or finding that there is nothing to learn. For starters I confess that I lied about everything in my story of how I became a whore, which is totally false, and after a bit I fabled in certain experiences, but the base is almost always true. I am a beginner. Let's leave it at that.

Why do I get into this? It was not to pay for my services, as stated in the topic of the crack whore. Get those things for me has always been free, just had to go with some men who have pockets full of candy to those who pay the company of people, and those who end up surrounding yourself with people who invite everyone leaves, or people looking for someone to invite you all. I belong to the second group, but soon was in the first. I do not like these men, in the end one realizes that they have nothing to offer me that after all can not buy sold, as it was in fact a long time.

simultaneously played it before with other work, a decent (to call in some way, although almost all jobs have some indecency), now I'm not worth it. I make more than I need to be a bitch, the other work I had become a kind of alibi, I ended up throwing away to sleep at home in the morning.

Things will change. Or why I have proposed since I had a big nosebleed. It was unpleasant to look like that, with blood dripping from the nose, and inside the throat. I stopped for a week, and then I began again. But that day I began to worry and I considered seriously put an end to all this, I thought to reach the Dec. 1 or my 30th birthday next year. The other day I went to the dentist, I hurt a tooth for a while. The dentist saw nothing but tinker. He said if I went and I was going to run out of mouth. That what had happened in the tooth was the first warning. I had a root canal, and then I put a titanium tooth. He tells me not notice anything, but it is a mark for life. Do not want to go there. If you only saw me notaríais no nothing, I have very good looking, always seems that I am more healthy than an apple, as they say ... but I keep having the feeling that something eats me inside. I eat what you eat my anxiety. Sometimes I have the feeling that if you do not throw anything in there, my body will feed on themselves.

this week makes me work harder. With my clients I always abstracted with the anticipation of pleasure was to come in when I got home. Now there is no reward.

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Frequency ANESTHESIA

I'm tired of the blog. As with everything I like, my addiction, my passion and finally, I get obsessed and ended up hating him. I'm the kind that he likes listening to a song a thousand times until I find it unbearable. I have become addicted to blog especially now that I have a little button down at all I can see blue (And you too), statistics this page. I spend too much time watching who enters and who exits, where they come from, how they come. Since I started the blog I left everything I wanted to read this month. Plus I'm tired of how I write. I get very literary, false fascia. I'm going to fucking bad novel, literary. I count myself like a character with a wounded narcissism that ends me as I turn off the computer and finally close the door to this world of strangers, I am telling you to impress you, my life's a bitch. It's a horror in which one can become, I reread the portrait I did of myself in this blog, and I realize all I use tricks to deceive you and myself about how I am and how I feel. It is healthier if you just write it monthly. O biweekly better. Ideally, erase it, but I'll give you a second chance ... I've written so much that I have a sensation of being in some way, and on his way to some truth, or to the finding of a big lie. I'll be back in two weeks and see what I do.

Sorry for the snobbishness of hanging a song by Chicane on my profile, I could not resist the temptation when I met her. Chicane, I think, are my greatest perversion. See you on November 30.

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AFFECTION IS COURTESY OF THE HOOKER FAMILY VISIT

One of the Frequently infudadas charges on the activity of the whores, is that everything we do in bed is artificial and therefore necessarily degrade the quality of sexual experience we provide. Some men, especially women (which surprises me a lot) purchased sex disqualified for being our pleasure fake. As if fingiéramos most times sex is paid or not. I would like to praise the artifice of makeup, costume and from the approach: that is what makes us deeply human, the right to use to represent an animal behaviorist, an ecstatic state who has started without possibility of return, its reckless drive toward orgasm. I sure the money echo powders are much better and more intense than that once I took for love. Everything is studied and choreographed, when stepping up the pace, when faking a breakdown of affection with a most loving erotic caress or a kiss on the forehead, when looking at infinity and moan as he loses his head disposed for the pleasure. There is nothing that gives them more satisfaction to our customers to think they are the ones that have made me lose control, which have led to my absolute commitment and have cleared the initial coolness and composure of a bitch. Male vanity has its best reward in the belief that they have managed to enjoy a whore. I always play to that with clients who want loyalty. Sex is all I sell, the affect is my courtesy. But affection ruining all the work of artificiality needed for the customer leaves satisfied, thinking he's got my delivery. It's really when I give that the dust begins to be somewhat awkward, that grin on my face can be grotesque and lose my positions ballerina accuracy both visually stimulating pays for the show to fuck. However this do not happen hardly ever. Would like him to enjoy a plate of rice to a poor Cuban whose house only eat rice every day.

mars love sex, do not amplify or improve it.

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These days I've had family visits. My parents have been in Madrid for a number of reasons. How difficult it is to lie well. A note I was not in tone or expression, after all, I have been a few years living pretending and used to respond to false names. For some time, most people I deal with in my day to day do not know my real name. It's better this way. I find it easy to represent well the paper so that I am very natural, so it becomes more difficult to maintain consistency in time lie, but that is nothing but a memory problem. Every time I add something new to my story, write it down so you do not forget me. I have a notebook house where I write, as a record, all the data I give to my parents and the rest of my family about my work and my workplace, a sort of log of the life that I have invented to keep them happy, or at least careless. In my life I invented for them a career performance closely linked to the degree they think they finished, a sector which are not at all familiar and which have few benchmarks to compare what I tell them. In any case, rather than the specifics of my work, I prefer to talk about my relationship with my boss and my co-curro, these people exist, that only have a presence in my imagination and of my family. I said previously in another post, I have no talent to invent anything from scratch, I suppose not entirely true, now that I think I could spend hours together talking about people at work. Sometimes when I talk to my parents tell me I have badly with some, along with others, that my boss has noticed me and I think I will raise the salary ... My father the other day I gave a talk on how he had to ask for my raise, and I then told him as it had been my meeting and as I eventually overcame the stress it caused me to ask for a raise, I looked into his eyes and I snapped all the arguments that my father had listed. And yes, I got the increase. My father told me I was proud of me, and would go far. Poor ... Though I suppose that I make happy case. It would be very selfish of me to face a truth that has not been prepared, there is no need. The day I started my business, things can boast of real, palpable and I can relax and let our guard down. I would say the type of business it is, but I prefer to be discreet, since my previous life will be erased, at least for a while. Then I might reconcile with that past life (this one I have now) and try to make some sense, but for now I will not lose by these dangerous twists and turns as they go those who aspire to that life has some meaning.

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GIORGIONE


was thinking if I put or not put a picture in my blog. At first I thought of not doing so, wanted to text only, but now I see a little dry, both paragraph without image that oxygenated. Also I do not know how to do that "Read", which lay at the end of a brief introduction to post on many blogs, and more digestible the first look at the page. I have decided that from time to time I will put paintings of women, the photos are too specific and make me hard, I can not imagine who serve as models as symbols but as specific subjects. I prefer the painting because it has all the power of an image built to be a symbol, a product of the imagination meant to be enjoyed not only by sight, but with thought. The problem with the paint (or at least with that I like most at this time, tastes are short me) is that the great paintings of women almost always made from the look of a man. The painting is a predominantly male art historically has always been so. Women who left us for contemplation are products of the imagination of a man. He is a man who thinks them, the dreams, set the canon of proportions, dressed, given the pose, color, gesture, and if they have a lot of skill, a touch of life, enough as to make them live in our collective imagination for centuries. But for all his skill, there is something in them that betrays us as spectators, the look with which we look is that of a woman looking at a man, they look at us. So my favorite painter of women is the Venetian Giorgione, he painted Judith and Venus with eyes closed or looking elsewhere. Judith painted it with the sword and the man to his feet as a Salome without the stain of his crime, but with an air of heroin. A painted Venus dreaming, as he let his hand rest on the pubic ... Giorgione knew that for him the inscrutable mystery was what they dream and what women fantasize, which is what when your eyes are looking back at us is not a reflection of the eyes that look. Giorgione not revealed himself the mystery of his painting, kept it with all the enigmatic charge.

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TRAVEL

strange trip. I had never gone so long with a client, and the truth is that I have paid well, I'm not complaining at all, or at least, nothing more than what I always complain. My client sells machines very large and very sophisticated. No more specific ... Each sale is a process of flirtation and seduction of the customer, almost a wedding, you have to know first, flirting a little, eat out, talk at length, and then maybe get the commitment of the sale and after sale, maintenance of the machine, which is a constant pour. As a marriage. If you buy the machine, you marry the one you sold. My client is a presentation, videos, brochures, maps and prices, interviews with potential buyers, leading them to eat and about four or five, it stops working and that's where I start working. My job is to offer not only sex, that would be easier, give some meat until it is exhausted and close the snack bar him back. The sex part is just the top end of each day. First we have to go for a walk, see some dubious tourist attraction as a sad zoo with three lions and a baboon pajillero toothless, or visiting a grave of a former President of the Republic (I'm in a republic, is all that I say). Then we go to dinner and have drinks, it's not dinner, because coca is put down to his eyebrows and he closes the stomach, but drinking it does baby. Food, and I ask as my hand, he leaves his, but he ends up a bottle of wine. I have no need to talk, he's an unstoppable torrent of words, and of course dinner, only takes your mouth with words and words. Meanwhile, I chew slowly and make as if I had a great interest in everything I said. The type is quite repulsive, never understand why not hire the services of a local prostitute, which are cheaper and I confess, truly beautiful. For less money than I'm worth, could have a piece of meat much more attractive. But the guy on the one hand is quite xenophobic or racist or what not ... the fact is that only likes the English, on the other hand, the locals said that they fucked a English long to come out to make sex tourism, so he prefers to bring his whore of Spain.

The client, call it X, sleep deprivation. Fuck me, and then stays up late putting stripes and writing in a journal. In a way I thank you finish channeling his verbiage in written form, and not pour into my ears the whole flow of words cocaine and ideas that will loose. When it is empty speeches, it pokes a pill called Alcyon, which he said is as powerful as the orfidal, but unlike it, does not leave you groggy the next day ... As you sleep, X begins to snore as if he had swallowed a jackhammer, and certainly not let me sleep. He knows he snores (I guess he will tell his poor wife every morning), especially when it becomes cocaine, and offered me his sleeping pills, but I'd rather stay reading. As the guy falls asleep, I get out of bed, I sit on a couch in the room and I start reading a strange book that I bought, I do not know if humor or horror, that I recommend to everyone ( Vathek by William Beckford). I loathe sharing a bed with most of my clients, and it belongs to that majority. In the morning, my client calls me up and fellatio morning, convinced that with this small pleasure, is drawn from all the pain of a hangover. Then get into the shower, puts on his suit, he slaps the face with a vengeance, for blood and the color begin to flow down her cheeks, and goes about their business. That is when I start to sleep.

Towards the end of the trip, there was one day I woke up at about three, with a call from the receptionist to give me a message: X was late, not coming to dinner, and gave me the address of the restaurant. I was not sure what to do, because he had already eaten and decided Vathek the daily gossip X. I'm usually pretty respectful of the privacy of my clients and I dedicate it to spy on their belongings, but there are times when I've won a book I knew I did not value, or that I have spied on the drawers, not to take anything, but curiosity (though in reality very few clients that I provoke curiosity, for the most rapidly classify a category just to see them). Are small evils that I suddenly become inevitable. Well, the truth is that I took a great surprise to read the diary of X. The guy looked even noticeable. His texts gave me the feeling that I was faced with the wonderful ruins of an intelligence destroyed long ago, covered with weeds and lichen, with just one column on foot, as the remains of Roman temples that make us close our eyes to recostruirlos with imagination, and see in our imagination all the splendor that one day should have. The sentences were long, full of twists, lost without getting anywhere and without any idea clearly shore, but here and there, emerging in all this chatter daring images. Appeared in prose poetry of a madman ... I remember two images that I loved: "Labyrinth of absence" and "cemetery clouds ...

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Back

I turn now. I've been traveling with a client. He's gone and flew to another city in this country where we are, for reasons of work. I'm still here, I will take the plane in the afternoon, and while doing time leave a note from a hotel computer, so that the few who read me do not think I've gone away.

I never gone so long with a client, or as far. Living together has been hard and long. My client is about those who are not supervised by his wife, was delivered without a brake on all sorts of vices ... drink, eat and take drugs without restraint. They know that once again it all comes back to peace first, under the supervision and tutelage of his wife, the woman who has become a retaining wall all the appetites that crowded into them, and pushing to get out as a violent flood of water and mud. Continue counting ... here all have eyes and speak English. I like to write outside of my little den.

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Today I woke up in bed for a client. Give Me a name, at least, give an initial A. He deserves to rescue you from ordinary customers. To begin with he was not fooling anyone with me, no one except himself, of course. But that is the noblest form of deception. A repeat customer is a lot, and which leaves me a fortune in the beginning of each month, when he has money. It is a methodical man, aside from your paycheck you need for mortgage, to eat and live in general, and what's left over, which is not enough, he spends it in me and in a collection that is very curious , I can not give him away specify risk, because I do not think there are many people who collect what this man collects. In any case, has the character meticulous, patient and careful collector, which is perhaps what interests me to tell. The guy is unattractive, timid, those in which I do not notice when walking down the street, not even a particularly nasty, none of his features would settle in my memory or even sit in front of me every afternoon on the bus that takes me to the apartment where I usually work. Until recently, he lived with his mother, a sick and handicapped are caring for years. Maybe that's why it remained a bachelor, who knows, in any case, the physical A could never have married a beautiful woman like that he likes. His house is a place where time stopped long ago, and where each object looks like a memory of someone who will not return. They spent one night each month since the mother died A.

to pay me to spend the whole night with him is enough money, and the truth that I prefer, because I find much easier to do several jobs in one night, mostly to make ends meet, when the johns charged and go to spend it with a heater impressive all week and are planning their night of sex, and have had time to simulate in his mind all the new fantasies that they will perform. Those days do not give me a break, so I prefer to retain customers give me a day what otherwise would gain at the expense of the thirsty johns vent end of the month. A love like me, has a romantic spot that inspires me I'm not sure if pain or tenderness, and strives to distinguish from ordinary customers. Do not want me to look like a john more and somewhat unresponsive john the common pattern: I always call me, my company is more interested than sex, I worry about not being bored or uncomfortable or uneasy, and is not a whore I feel when you are with him, wants us friends, but it is inevitable that I feel a whore, I charge a fortune, I will never discount or gift you a single minute more (and he asks me to give anything outside the terms of our agreement) and the truth is would never go anywhere with him if not for the money. It's sad, but true.

When I come home always brings a suit and asks me to put a fancy dress. He lets me dress, help me to dress, is one of the things that excite him. Then I used an elaborate dinner that he prepared, is good at cooking and stretches a lot, buying premium products. The two had dinner, we took a good wine and then we usually watch a movie together. She asks me to bring me the movies I bought the watch and then he'd pay them and keeps them. I love that we lay on a couch and see the movie embraced. After the movie we go to sleep, we talked a bit in bed and asks me to undress. It is a while caressing the body, with eyes of fascination, and then asks you to hug to sleep. Always takes a very powerful sleeping pill at night I go, it says if not, do not sleep, it is quite sleepless, and in fact, what he likes best of all we do is sleep in my arms, embraced. I did not hit my eyes all night, something that causes me some anxiety in this: the simulation of intimacy between couples, much less than it costs me a stranger fuck me to sleep with him or take her a lifetime together. In fact depresses me so much this poor man ... but I guess I give her monthly dose of happiness.

When I awake, still half asleep under the effect of the pill. He struggles out of recklessness that leaves him. I take my leave and he asks for a kiss. He knows that in the mouth I'm not going to give, but it just a kiss on the forehead looks at me with eyes of great sadness as I go. This is for customers who hurt me in a moral sense, it actually pays to be able to love and be loved, not for sex, and that is much more difficult to give. Do not put the pussy, but a bit of soul.

Sometimes we get paid for feigning love and affection. I know that if I did, A look at another bitch to give him that. It's part of our work that are necessary skills as an actress. When I came home I was thinking in his role, that of a bride, a woman who is bored with her husband quietly, watching a movie ... The two were acting, he and I, to create the image of a royal couple, whose gestures and their mutual relations are shaped by time. I wonder if I may ever be there, happily bored, lying on a sofa, hugging someone while away the time left before the TV, without any anxiety, without the anxiety of thinking you're missing something.