throwing away the pleasers

 

         This will be long, vulnerable, raunchy, and my story of what it was like being a sex worker. The beginning up until my retirement. The reasons why and what happened. Just everything I feel comfortable sharing because there are some things I am just going to have to take to the grave, and I am okay with that. Please proceed to read this blog with caution and care, as it'll be a graphic and detailed description of my experiences as a "woman" and how violent it is to be one. Sensitive content ahead!

        It's the summer of 2019, I just turned 22, I went to quit my job, and they told me they didn't need my two weeks; to just leave. I had no money, no food, and no idea how to pay my rent. I was stressing about what to do, and then a guy I had previously had a crush on decided it would be cute to text me, "send nudes :3." My crush was immediately gone, but my instant reaction was to text back, "send money :3," and so it started. He did it. He sent money, and I provided the nudes. It was effortless and fell right into my lap. I realized then and there that I was supposed to do this. I was supposed to go through with being a sex worker. I posted on my Instagram story, "who tryna buy nudes" or something of the sort, and my DMs flooded. People I expected to message me, did, and others I was totally shocked by became clients. I was getting flagged by Instagram, and realized I needed to find a better platform for facilitating my criminal enterprise, and made what I called a "Premium Snapchat," which wasn't really an original concept. I charged people $50 to add me, and the day I launched it, I made $500 in one day. I made more money in a day than I had in one week at my shitty coffee shop job. I was still trying to figure out what to do with this whole Snapchat thing. I changed the rules a lot. Changed my prices and charged monthly. People could commission me for custom content, which I obviously charged more for. I don't do anything for free.

        I used to make artsy hoe content because that was true to me, but that all changed as time went on. I realized what the people really wanted. I put my good memory to work and would remember what someone liked when they commissioned me. But the hype died down a bit, and I realized that I needed consistent work, and not rely on just the people who lusted after me on Instagram and Twitter. I knew that cam girl studios existed, and reached out to someone who could point me in the right direction. I was led to a very vague Craigslist AD. They emailed me back, called me, and told me I could get an interview, but I had to bring someone with me. That was a non-negotiable. Honestly, I can't remember who I brought with me. It was right outside downtown Phoenix, close to the Diamondbacks stadium. The front door was always locked for safety reasons, and only men worked there. These two huge white boys were twins, and the older white man who owned the whole operation. The building was previously a law firm. It had about 9 rooms, a cubby room (where the files used to live), two bathrooms, a kitchen, a patio, two broken vending machines, and a mail room. Yes, we got mail. I filled out some paperwork, and I was hired. He took 10% out of our earnings as a way to pay rent. There was a closet full of clean sheets and towels. Each room had ring lights, a desktop, cleaning supplies, wipes, a futon, a stool, a fan, wack ass decorations, and a full body mirror. There were rules, a lot actually. Nothing illegal, no age play, no eating or showing anything on camera for free, no piss or scat play (try to avoid squirting), couldn't mention any other social media apps or sites, couldn't give out personal information or say where we were located (duh!) Some of the rules were from the studio and others from the site we used. I really liked the site because I appreciated how strict it was. It provided me with some protection. A VPN was used, of course. You could block out any specific country, state, city, or town. We would sign up for shifts on a paper sheet at the front desk, and had to work for at least 4 hours. There was a whiteboard where we claimed a room, and wrote beside it how long we'd be there. We used our stagename, and that was how Monique Chavez was born. The owner advised me to choose a name that feels genuine, one that feels like you. You don't want people calling you "princess" or "diamond" forever. I decided I'd also give myself a last name because why the fuck not? It made me more personable, and I played an innocent role when I first started. I had some of the most fucked up requests. People tried to trick me. A veteran sex worker would train us, and we would sit in a room with her as she was live. This one lady was like my house mom. She gave me a dildo that, to this day, is my favorite one. She introduced me to my Splenda daddy. Some lingo for you: Sugar Daddy- someone rich, who can take care of you fully. Spleanda Daddy- a broke man trying. They will give you money sometimes and mainly provide gifts. Papa John- Usually a man you like who will take you out on a bunch of dates, and you never pay for anything. Not normal dates. Still provides gifts. John- A man who pays for sex. Strictly a client. 

       This was my first week at the studio. Bored outta my mind. I used to have sOoooOooooo many pictures, but they're all gone now. I'll tell you why later on. Honestly, I didn't do so great at the studio. I am a terrible cam girl. I am lazy, unmotivated, and sleepy. I did OKAY, but it wasn't enough to pay my $450 rent (yes, it was that cheap at the time), my bills, my classes, and my active addiction. I was also recovering from the worst relationship I had been in to this day. He actually became one of my clients. 

        People looked at me crazy when I would say that I didn't think I was successful as a cam girl because I didn't cater to a fetish. Unless a man's fetish was mentally ill, white Latinas. But my boss brought it up to me about how I don't make as much, but my friend who started made triple what I was pulling in. That's because I knew who would make great money, and knew who could take it. He said he would watch in on me (they can't watch once in a show) and see what I could do better so I could get more clients. Nothing. There was nothing I could've done better. He then made a deal with me that he had never made with anyone before. I became a recruiter. Lowkey, I felt like a pimp, a madam if you will. He would give me quite a nice fee if I brought someone in who made more than $500 a week and stayed for a few weeks or something like that. Easy. Every person who started because of me was a better sex worker because of me. He would also pay me extra to be the one to train girls. I also taught people how to market themselves and use Twitter to their advantage. Marketing yourself is maybe one of the hardest parts. Or maybe I should say the most humbling part. Outside of the studio, I had people messaging me about how to start at all, and for advice. A lot of them tipped me, took me out for a drink, or some I just wanted to help. Looking back, I do feel a little bad. I never advertised it, and only offered it to people who reached out to me or whom I knew were interested. This was never a job I would recommend to someone who wasn't doing it out of survival. I gave ALL the warnings. I would tell them that if they didn't have a thick skin or the mental strength for this job, then do not do it. I mentioned how it is the hardest job I've ever had to do. This is a JOB!

        That being said, this cam girl shit wasn't paying all the bills, and I had to get another part-time job at another coffee shop. At least this one was boujee. I hated it. Of course. Plus, I got fired for doing shrooms at work. They should've fired me a week before they actually did. I wish I could see all the camera footage of what I was like that day. 

        Now it's January of 2020, and I have no idea what was to come. I had friends who were strippers, and people around me telling me I should be. I was so anxious about it, moving from mainly online work to a full in-person job. I was afraid of being perceived, the risk of assault, and I just wasn't comfortable with my body. I was like, "If I don't have an ass... what would I do" because I also suffer from hypohidrosis. So I CANNOT do pole work. My ass would slide right off. In Phoenix, Arizona, you have to apply and purchase a license to be an "Erotic Entertainer" for the small price of $24. 

        

        It also took me a few weeks to finally work. Work up the courage, really. I was being really annoying about the whole thing. I couldn't shake my overthinking and constant anxiety. The thing is, in order to grow, learn, and get better, you literally have to just do it. So I took a deep breath, wiped my hands, and walked into Bandiads (Yes, that is the name of the strip club) during their opening shift to audition. The manager looks me up and down and says, "I'll be right back." He got me standing here like "what now..." then he comes back with paperwork. I look kinda confused because... for an audition? He goes, "You're hired! Sign these!" to me. Stunned. Confused. I go, "What? I don't need to dance or anything?" He looks confused. Looks me up and down again. He responds, "Oh, what? You want to?" It was so funny to me and flattering because... yeah... hell yeah... OF COURSE, I got hired just like that. He told me right then and there that I could start working. I didn't have class that day. Why not? I went to change, and I was so anxious. That was when I finally stepped out onto the floor with my pleasers. I rolled my ankle a little, and a guy at the bar teased me. I laughed at myself with him, and somehow that moment eased my worry. I charged this guy $100 to get my Snapchat. I made $150 an hour that day. I only spent the minimum amount of time there. 3 hours. I rode that high for the rest of the day. But I couldn't sustain that euphoria long enough. I got greedy. I found myself making a rookie mistake. I put myself in a compromising position. Obviously, I am okay, and it didn't stop me from going back. I just got wiser. What happened isn't important. Don't ask me.

        The pros and cons list for working at the club was long. The house fees were way less than in other places. The DJs, security, and managers all liked me. The girls came and went. I was indifferent to all of them. I don't even mean that in a snooty way. There was one girl, though, whom I had a crush on. Fun fact: a lot of strippers are lesbians. She was outstanding at pole tricks. She moved so gracefully, too. I would stop what I was doing to watch her. If I were with a clinet I would make them give her money. I never did anything about it. She had a girlfriend. She just made the workday better. 

        Valentine's Day came, and I realized that I'd work. Because why not? I was single. My last Valentine's Day was spent with a demon. I deserved to do something for myself, and that was making money.           

        The first photo is from my first week. The middle photo is the bag I carried with me while working. A compact Coach purse. Still one of my faves. The third photo is of me on Valentine's Day. I don't remember how much I made, but it was a lot. The weirdest thing happened to me that night. Some guy was in awe when he saw me as I was called to the stage. I still used Monique, but at the clubs I went by "Moni," so I would hear "Moni, Moni, to the stage. Moni to the stage," Anyways, I am on the stage, and I see that he can't stop staring at me. Obviously, almost everyone was, but he was looking at me like I was a fallen Angel working that damn pole. Once I got off the stage, is when he asked for me. His friend said, "I told you, dude," and I didn't concern myself with men's conversations, so I ignored it while I started to talk to him. Come to find out, his friend had been at the club previously and went to tell this man that he just had to see me. Turns out, I looked exactly like a girlfriend he once had who passed away. He couldn't believe it. I could see in his eyes him reliving all the memories with her. It was like he fell in love with her all over again through me. It was pretty awkward for me because I was just sitting there smiling like... okay. He spent a lot of money on me that night. Like he went to the ATM to get more money, kind of a night. He cried, actually. His friend had to drag him out. He was wearing a wedding ring. I never saw him again. 

          When I was in school, I sometimes worked the day shift before or after class. Most times, I worked the last 4 hours of the day because that's when everyone wants a dance. Squeezing in as much as they can before they leave. My time as a stripper in Phoenix was short-lived. It was a few weeks later, and the news was talking about a virus that was going around and killing people. No fear, it still hadn't made its way to the US. I went to work one day, and an older dancer, and also a mom, busted out wipes, hand sanitizer, Lysol spray, just anything you can think of that killed bacteria. She informed me that earlier that morning, it was announced that there were a few cases that appeared in the Americas. That whole day, I was a little on edge, and then something happened to me that hadn't happened before. I was giving a lap dance to a man, and then he sucked my neck so fucking hard that I thought he bit me. I socked him in the jaw, and I heard that shit pop. I got him kicked out. I was so grossed out. I washed my neck. Dosed it in hand sanitizer. I was so pissed because 1) what the actual fuck? I had just been assaulted. 2) What the actual fuck? Who does that? 3) What the actual fuck? During an uncertain time for an unknown virus? I told them I needed to leave early, and they let me. I decided I wasn't going to go back until I knew what was going on in the world. Just three short days later, the world shut down, and we were all asked to stay home. I went back to camming in the meantime. Again, I am terrible at camming, so I didn't make much, and this started to worry me. Rent was coming up, and I didn't have it. I set up a mini crowdfunding, and my friends, family, loved ones, and clients came to my rescue. I secured what I was in dire need of, and the cycle started again. That's when I started Crybaby Bakery out of my house. That was a wild ride. But since I was an Independent Contractor, I qualified for that weekly pay. I rode that high till October of 2020. 

        At this point, I was running out of funds FAST, and my landlord was a raging bitch. I got into a fight with the girlfriend of a client. Don't worry. I fucked her up. TRUST! I had to move in with my parents for like three months, and I was losing my mind. There was a boy who followed me that I thought was really cute, and he reached out to me to buy content, and then he started spoiling me. I made the mistake of turning a trick into a boyfriend. He used money as a way to control me. Since he paid for almost everything for me. Including my rent. I don't like talking about my love life. Like at all. So I won't go into too much detail about that, but hey! Shoutout to that time in my life because I got an apartment, my old car paid off, the down payment for my new car, some debt paid off, a TV, a lot of gifts, and money. There was a price to pay, of course. That relationship was very short-lived. It was almost a job, a partnership, more than a romantic relationship. Let's just say, he went to jail for what he did to me. He finally did it in public, and some firefighters saw. But at this point, I had started an OnlyFans and gained almost 50 pounds. I noticed a shift in clientele. I still had some loyal customers who didn't care what I looked like. Didn't matter if I gained weight. Shaved my head. They lined up for that content. To those of you who never switched up on me. Thank you. To the others who only liked me when I was skinny. Eat shit. To the person who paid to join my OnlyFans, only to message me if I still had content or any extra stuff from when I was skinny. Die. I mean that shit too. 

        I started working big girl jobs while still maintaining my OnlyFans, custom content, and specific clients. Also, my Splenda daddy never went away. He helped me a lot, and as much as he could. I got a lot of gifts because of him, and the gold ring I wear. I got to design it myself. 

        I've talked a lot about the factual parts of my time as a sex worker. Not so much, how I felt through it all. When I first started, I found a lot of external validation in it. At first, it felt good to be lusted after in that way. Proving to myself that I am a desirable being. Not everyone has sex appeal, but I do. It was invigorating when people I found attractive, or people I didn't expect to buy content, did. That my beauty alone could pay my bills. But those good feelings only lasted so long. My clients were mainly men. Very rarely were they women. Some clients were couples. They would watch my content together. Anyways, the men would be... men, and they would try to haggle with me. Haggle, bitch? Really? My pussy is not a swap meet. DO NOT PISS ME OFF! Sometimes they would ask for a sample. Sample, bitch? My pussy does not operate like a Costco. My sample is the selfie I posted that made you rub your hands together like a fly after throwing up on them, and made you message me asking about my content. DO NOT PISS ME OFF! People would ask for discounts... do I even have to say it? To be fair, I did sometimes. It was on a case-by-case basis. Some people who pissed me off got overcharged or just blocked. Again, everything was always on a case-by-case basis. This frustrated me so much, tho. I would fantasize about curbstomping them, and then shooting them up, and then cutting them into bite-sized pieces, and then I would scatter them all throughout the desert. I would get THAT mad. I never really showed it to them, though. Sometimes I would cuss them out before I would block them mid-type. I don't play around here. I fight. 

        Something that upset me the most was this assumption that I was "easy" because of my work. People would try to ask me "out" on posts where I was promoting my content. Like, be so forreal right now. So when I would reject them or say... so are you going to buy content, they would get so offended. All of a sudden, I was ugly, dumb, a whore, you name it. They would say, "Why would I buy content from you? Porn is free!" No shit. But, Pornhub.com doesn't have me on there, and that's what you want to see. They either thought they were cute or special enough to get it for free. Comical. Real comedians in my DMs. That happened mainly when I first started. As time went on, people respected me more. Most of my clients weren't amateurs anymore. However, I encountered a new thing that would PISS ME OFF! I didn't charge a high monthly rate for my OF because I only posted 1 or 2 times a month. Sometimes more. But there were 400+ media provided on there, and people still complained. Mind you, OF was also taxing me a lot. They had all this access to me for cheap and saw me as cattle. Someone told me... TO MY FUCKING FACE... that I should be posting to my OF more because he'd like to see more of me. TO MY FACE! I sat there in disbelief. We were just hanging out as "friends" too. Also, by this time, my disability had made it nearly impossible for me to have the strength and energy to make content. It was exhausting just trying to make a 3-minute video. My body didn't feel like it belonged to me. I hated casual sex or dating because I viewed everything as transactional. I would feel guilty if I took a bath and didn't make something. Anything. That started to depress me. It weighed on me because at this point, I was 26, and I realized I wanted to experience love. 

        One thing I want to add is that if you judge sex workers. Think to yourself; Do I fuck the text man for texts? Do I fuck the weed man for weed? Do I have sex on the first date? Do I wait, have sex with someone, and then get ghosted? Does someone lay up in my house, eat my food, smoke my weed, drink my drinks, and I get nothing but dick? Have I ever felt obligated to have sex with someone after a date because I've been conditioned by patriarchal standards? Even if this person is your partner, spouse, or just met? As the icon, Venus Xtravaganza, said, "I feel like, if you're married? A woman, in the suburbs, a regular woman, if you want your husband to buy a washer and dryer set, I'm sure she'd have to go to bed with him, to give him something he wants, to get what she wants. So, in the long run, it all ends up the same way." Always check your privilege. You most likely don't know what it means to survive. 

        Once I moved to Portland, my work shifted, and I won't say more than that. You can use your imagination. As I mentioned in my previous blog post, moving here was hard on me. I struggled in many ways, but my finances felt it the most. I always had my camming account. I would come back to it in dire moments. I worked a lot on it before I moved to Portland, and when I arrived. Since Portland has the most strip clubs per capita, it was not shocking that I made friends with sex workers here. They pointed me in different directions for different lines of work. Oh yeah, I got paid to beat up someone once. Once, I got paid to just watch some dude do lines of coke and talk about his childhood trauma. Easiest thousand dollars I ever made. But the clubs here? AWFUL! I only lasted two days; there are hardly any rules, and everyone was broke. I was assaulted on the second night and didn't look back.  Anyways, I started dating. Using the God-forsaken apps. That shit was hell. I never used them in Phoenix, but I was new here. What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Look confused inside a bookstore until someone talked to me. Well, one of the dates stuck around, and I really liked him. I want to make it clear. I dated a bit before, more casually, and I never hid that I was a sex worker. So when I told this guy, I could tell it bothered him; he couldn't hide his reaction. I immediately said, "Don't make me choose, because I will leave." Then I left the car, and we left it at that for a while. 

        I still had to work, and the bills still had to be paid. But the work was weighing on me. He could see that, and I would try not to complain about it. We hardly talked about it. It felt wrong to talk about it with him. More months would pass, and I could see that it was getting to him. One part of me understood, and the other part would get so upset because we were disagreeing over my livelihood. I am Mexican, and he is also Latino, so we're jealous people. Again, it's not like I didn't understand where he was coming from. I just felt backed into a corner. Do I pursue this relationship? Is this love worth it for me if I have to compromise myself? Is this relationship worth getting rid of most of my income? Yes, I was working a coffee shop job too. But doing sex work made it so much easier for me financially. Are sex workers not worthy of love?

        The thing that frustrates me about dating is that I've done the work. I've been to therapy. Have a degree in communication. Take medication. Take care of myself, FULLY! Yes, there's still more work to be done. But my pros definitely outweigh my cons. However, I still doubt my own decisions at times. When men are dating, they get by with just the promise of change. So, because I knew he was bad at communicating, it is my fault for sticking around. Not his fault for spewing empty promises. He finally sat me down, seven months in, when I was already in love with him, and I was given an ultimatum. I knew it was coming, but I was still stunned. He said, "What is mine is mine." I ate those words, chewed on them, and they were hard to swallow. It felt like something a client would say to me. It felt like I no longer had autonomy. He got mad at me for not quitting sooner. He made me get rid of everything. Like I said, I wanted love, and at the time, I wanted his. 

        I've known that the economy was crashing for years now. I've seen it coming. 1) because I've lived in poverty my whole life. And 2)  because I could see the shift in my clients. Affording sex work is a luxury buy, I'd say. So it started to feel like I was giving more of myself than I was getting back. Mind you, I was a renegade. I did everything myself. The marketing, editing, filming, network, sitework, accounting, security, I did that shit. For some ungrateful ass men. People are greedy. While I was writing this, someone reached out asking for content. So, it's almost as if I haven't retired because people still ask me. 

        On Christmas Day, something gross took place. I haven't had a casual fling since October. It was short-lived, boring, and bland, and I realized I meant it when I said I do not want to date men ever again. They do not know how to fucking act. Every man I have ever been with... when they give me head... I start imagining a bad bitch is putting in the work... so that I can finish... every. single. man. Pretty sure that's a lesbian right there. Anyways, Christmas Day, throughout that whole day, I encountered men lusting after me. One former client sent me an unsolicited dick pic. Seriously? In this day and age? At 3:20pm, on the day Christ was born, a man sent me his monstrous-looking dick captioned "Save a cowboy ride a horse." Bitch, I almost threw my phone. A man who pissed me off REAL bad tried calling me. Girl, HUH? A man who only likes to message me when he's drunk, did, no surprise there. Never even met this man, by the way. It's just funny to entertain because the shit he says gets a chuckle outta me. ANOTHER MAN tried to sext me... HELLO? JESUS IS WATCHING?! Mind you, I've ignored his attempts to do it before. Like, straight up ignore. Like, don't even message back. That shit made me feel so gross that day. I don't even talk to these men, and especially not like that. They just assumed it was okay to do that to me, and on that day. I cried to my roommate a few days later because I thought about a man being in my cute room. In my cozy bed. Using MY toilet. Stepping into MY shower. Oh, the thought grossed me out so much it brought tears to my eyes. I reflected on Christmas a lot. I had been retired from sex work for about a year at that point. I do not talk to those men. I am not talking to anyone. It felt like I'd never escape the male gaze. A few weeks later, I got a little bored, entertained some men via texts/Instagram, and almost went on a date. A date that I was told would be planned out, cute, and fun. But it was with a man, so of course it wasn't. He asked if we could hangout AT  MY HOUSE! Girl, that date did not happen. Because I was replying to the reply guys, they thought we were going to fall in love, get married, and I'd have 6 kids for them. MIND YOU, I wouldn't even flirt back. Just respond. 

        A part of me thinks... maybe... maybe I am bisexual... because I can find men sexually attractive. I have loved men before. I can see myself being in a romantic relationship with a man. But once you start hanging with them, dating them, fucking them, it's always disappointing. It's so much advocating for myself. Lesbians don't move like that. Maybe I'll fuck another man one day when I'm bored... but at what cost? Getting a new hobby is a way better use of my time. I do not like men; I just have stifled creativity. I have jewelry to make. Boxing classes to take. A movie to make. A screenplay that is being written. Drugs to do. Canvases that need paint. A camera roll to fill. An oven that calls to me. Music to make. Poems to finish. I have all these ideas that live inside my mind, and I deserve to do something about them. 

        Overall, I am not mad that I retired from sex work. I am just mad that the main reason was for a man who is addicted to porn, sex, and women. Who was a hypocrite throughout our whole relationship. I don't mean to sound bitter. It's just the truth. He knows it is too. 

        I still sometimes wonder if I should start back up again, especially in this economy. But that's also a reason why I don't want to. Men are scary right now. There are a lot of things I left out, some things I just forgot. Others, they're mine to keep. Sex work was the reason I became a Santa Muerte devotee, and maybe I am just a crazy Mexican, but I do believe she watched over me and kept me safe. I got into some shiiiiiiit doing this line of work. I think this is kind of obvious, but I faced a lot of abuse that made this job easier to do. If people used me, and abused me, for free... then... I GOT IT! I know this sounds nuts, but I've known since I was pretty young that I'd be a sex worker. Maybe that's a blog for another time. I used to listen to a playlist when I was working to help me. Maybe I'll condense it? And share it? Anyone interested in that?

        You know what's funny? After this is posted, people will still want something from me. That's been my whole life. People just take, and take. Don't I deserve to get something out of it?