Ho down in Aisle Five…

So when a ho is down, I mean WAY down…how does she pick herself back up again? Maybe a little illicit sex? debauchery? Pimping and prostitution? Those sort of thing s always cheers me up.

So here’s what’s going on…Tonight I found out exactly what I am going to owe after my divorce, and let me tell you it ain’t pretty. From loans taken out against our mortgage (not mine), medical bills (my husbands, not mine), credit card debit ( once again…not mine) and a new BMW (wish it was mine, but unfortunately…not…and currently being repo’d) is the startling sum of….250,000!

250,000!

That is two hundred and fifty fucking thousand dollars that I am legally liable of because my husband was a loser… and because I am in California half of it is MINE, even though the only money I owe is a few payments on a car Marc destroyed the day he found out I was leaving him…that was about oh….$1050…and the rest of the debt is Marc’s and money I will be paying off ’til I am a hunched over with arthritis.

So how does one pay back so much a large sum? If your reading this blog and you are re gular reader you probably know the response…

Return to escorting….

Yeah…I know I said I wouldn’t…but that does not mean I can not help others who want to get in on the action, after all there are still many eager women who need money and many lonely married men who want to chase down and play with someone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for about an hour or so. I could help them get in touch with one another, I will be a little like that lady on TV…the millionaire matchmaker…

When I told this all to Mr.D he laughed.

“That’s called being a pimp.” He said.

” I would like to use a less delicate term, maybe an escort manager?”

” Its called a pimp.” He said.

” It’s still helping people.” I said.

Mr. D rolled his eyes and went back to eating his fries. I watched him work day in and day out, he works two and a half retail jobs to support our kids making next to nothing.  Before the IRS got involved he had once run a successful escort agency with branches all over the US…that’s until the IRS wanted a piece of the (illicit) action….funny what happens to when the last time you filed your income taxes was 1989. Once a millionaire, today he works in retail and drives a toyota…he actually works in the very same store I did when I first came to LA…

The job I tried to escape by becoming an escort…but I can’t go back there…I can only go forward…tomorrow I am arranging a date between a former client of mine I will call Jeff and a escort I know who I will call Michelle. Jeff is a wealthy, sort of nerdy studio exec…Michelle is just really hot…but does not have many reviews so it’s been hard for her to get a job…hopefully she will have one tomorrow…and for myself a little extra dough.

To be continued (read more tomorrow).

Watch Out Ladies! Robots Could Replace Escorts by 2050!

From The Inqustr:

In what almost sounds a bit like a Penthouse letter, researchers have predicted that sex robots will be the future of buying sex, and robots.

In a journal called Futures, management professor Ian Yeoman and sexologist Michelle Mars imagined a sex club in Amsterdam populated by the sex robots, where punters could be serviced by virtual creatures they describe as “sexual gods and goddesses of different ethnicities, body shapes, ages, languages and sexual features.”

Predicting future issues with increased rates of sexually transmitted infection and human sex trafficking in the 2040s (a depressing thought considering that those who will be affected aren’t even born yet), Yeoman and Mars describe their vision of a sex robot nightclub venue.

RedOrbit (which disturbingly uses the adjective “slutty” throughout the piece, proving that even robot women are subject to pejorative terms, even in the future) quotes the researchers’ imaginings:

“It is modern and gleaming with about 100 scantily clad blonde and brunettes parading around in exotic G-strings and lingerie. Entry costs $10,000 for an all inclusive service… The most popular model is Irina, a tall, blonde, Russian exotic species who is popular with Middle Eastern businessmen.”

Of course, no one thinks about the actual human prostitutes and pimps such an innovation will impact. The toll of human pain from trafficking will be decreased by such a trend, but naysayers in the small-but-legal camp of purveyors of legal, flesh and blood romps say that no sex robot can replace a living, breathing female. Dennis Hof of Nevada’s iconic Moonlight Bunny Ranch and star of the creepy HBO late-night property Cathouse thinks the researchers ought to sample the X-rated American nightlife before ruling out the future of living sex workers altogether:

“Those Australian researchers ought to come to the Bunny Ranch to see what real American sex is like- there’s no way to duplicate it… At the Bunny Ranch, we say ‘it’s not just the sex, it’s an adventure’ -and often times it’s more about the adventure than it is the sex.”

Yes, but what’s a bigger adventure than getting busy with a sex robot, Mr. Hof? Yeoman and Mars theorize that the innovation will remove the stigma of visiting a prostitute from some encounters, as well as eliminate the need for johns to lie to partners after a turn with the sex robots:

“All in all, the regeneration of Amsterdam’s sex industry has been about the success of the new breed of sex worker… Even clients feel guilt free as they actually haven’t had sex with a real person and therefore don’t have to lie to their partner.”

The pair also surmise the sex robots will be built using special bacteria resistant fibers, to ensure safe robot sex.

 

Pettin’ The Pussy.

There’s nothing wrong with a little pussy…right?

Lately my daughter Amalie has been learning to talk. She is fortunate ( or unfortunate) to grow up in a multi-lingual household, and has a dad, Mr. D,  that talks to her in nothing but French, so now I am a child whose few words that she speaks I can not understand.

Until two days ago….

It was morning and Mr. D was getting ready for work and I was in the living room with Amalie when Otis, the neighbor cat comes onto the porch like he always does hoping we might give him something to eat. As soon as this happened, Amalie looked over to the window and said her first english word.

” Pussy.” She said pointing to Otis.

” What did she just say?” Asked Mr. D in horror coming into the room.

“She was talking about Otis, the pussy, your just upset she didn’t say it in French.”

” Did you teach that to her.”

“No…” I said. “but,  it figures that would be her first English word, she being my daughter and all.”

 

 

Jailbait

For a non-trashy, non-trailer park residing, non-pickup driving little white girl  who has never been on Judge Judy or Jerry Springer, I certainly know my fair share of guys in the pokey ( that’s what my grandpa in Dallas, TX calls jail).

Like I wrote about in an earlier post, first it was my brother who risked it all ( law career, wife, house, freedom…) to sleep with some under-age ( and when I say underage, I mean underage) girl…not 17, not 16…not even 15…try 14 years old. I tried to make myself feel sorry for him…I tried really hard, but at the end of the day, I just couldn’t…I asked myself how could someone be so stupid as to sleep with a 14-year-old girl?…and then I thought, my brother isn’t stupid…he graduated from one of the top law schools and had just made partner at the firm he was working it…the thing is, he’s not stupid…she looked 14…and he has problems…he’s still my brother…but that doesn’t mean I will be speaking to him anytime soon.

And then there is Marc…I had nothing to do with getting my brother to where he is…but I certainly did have a large hand in getting Marc behind bars.

Last week, he attacked me, left and I called the police.  An hour later, I hear they got him…and had gone one other lovely little surprise…meth…at first he denied it was his…saying it was mine…but then when they didn’t buy that he spilled the beans and explained he had been using it for several years.

While part of me was shocked, there was a part of me that was not surprised at all ( for the record, I have not ever once touched drugs..not even pot). The first year as Marc’s girlfriend and then wife were fabulous, he was the love of my life and I was treated like a queen…I really felt as if my fairytale of hooker becomes housewife finally came true and everything was perfect…

until he began to abuse me, it just came out of nowhere and I always stayed with him because I thought somehow it might get better…but it never did.

Now it all made sense…it was a relief that it was not him abusing me it was the drugs…but then again…he chose what he put in his body…even if it was an addiction it was one he started.

Marc’s out on bail awaiting trial, there are my charges against him…and the ones for possession of drugs.

Tonight as I was leaving the hospital when I went to go see my twins who are still in neonatal care, I saw Marc standing in the entrance, he had some cheap gas station flowers wrapped up in pink cellophane, and as he approached me he handed them to me.

” Can we talk?” He asked.

” For a few minutes.” I said

” My attorney is telling me that I’m looking at a maximum of six years…” He said.

” Fuck…” I said.

” Yeah…” He said.

There was a silence between us. There was a part of me who once loved him who didn’t want to see him go…I felt bad for him…

” What if I didn’t press charges.”  I said softly.

He was silent for a moment, then reached for my hand.

” I fucked my life up pretty bad, but I fucked yours up even more. I hurt you…and I have to pay for it…I have to live up to what I did…the drugs they might let me go to rehab for…but for what I did to you…I have to do the time. While I am in prison, I want you to be happy…I want you to go on with your life…and don’t worry about me. You deserve to be happy…my only hope is that when I get out…we can be friends” He let go of my hand ” Good bye Isabelle”

He then turned and walked away.

Ménage à trois

If you have not read enough my blog, you might not know I like women. I mean I really do like women.

Yes, in that way.

Ok, maybe so not as much men, but if asked, I would say I am about 1/4 lesbian, 3/4 straight as an arrow cock worshipper.

And the 1/4 part of me that’s a lesbian helped decide on our new tenant that will be living in the small studio guest house that used to be my soon to be ex husband’s darkroom and office.

Why we had to rent out the guesthouse started with the fact that both Mr. D and I are broke. I am fortunate to have the little yellow bungalow in Venice, the one with the 2 bedrooms, a dining room that has been turned into a nursery for our twins, the living with the worn out brown leather club chair that has been claimed as hers by our golden lab,  the kitchen with the stove from some time early in the last century that you have to light with a match, the bathroom with the clawfoot tub and Arnold and Harold, the resident cockroaches.

On Thursday we ran a Craigslist ad to rent out our studio guest house. Mr. D had run the ad on the housing section, but I had run ad in personals, stating discount rent ($1500) for a hot woman who wanted to play with a couple.

When the ad went up, we instantly got replies, one from a loser college drop out who’s mom would be paying the rent and a divorced middle-aged guy with a balding pate, a beer belly and sweat stains on the under arms of white shirt. not exactly the third part of a threesome.

But this morning we got a reply from a lady named Michelle, when responding to the ad she described herself as a blonde, leggy thirty-something who worked as a publicist in Beverly Hills, she was recently single after breaking up with guy she had been dating for three years and had decided to explore on the other side of the closest.

This morning we met her at Starbucks in Santa Monica. When I saw her, I think I just about orgasmed. She wore a tight, figure hugging body-con dress and her shapely legs were extended about 4 inches by spindly stiletto pumps.

I was in love…

I looked over to Mr. D who sat next to me, he had been completely unaware that I had placed the other ad. His tongue was hanging out his mouth like a dog on a hot day and had developed a profound erection for which he quickly my sweater off me to cover up. It’s a comfort to know his mind is just as dirty as mine.

We spent an hour together over a couple of cups of coffee and then went back to the house where she checked out the guest house and decided she would like to rent from us.

After she signed the lease, I was hoping she might stick around for a threesome…but she didn’t…I guess I will just have to wait…

 

Suck My Coq

I am back in LA. I have my dog back, my house back…everything except my husband…he’s gone and in place is Mr. D.

Being French, Mr. D is a very good cook, and one of his favorite dishes is Coq Au Vin, a very naughty sounding dish…that unfortunately is not very naughty at all…I even let my 9 month old have a few bites…

This evening when I came home, I found two dishes waiting for me….some organic shiitake mushrooms with leftover Ahi Steak all mashed into a little bowl for the baby (only in LA, right?) and…

The Coq Au Vin…well half of it anyway, apparently Mr. D had consumed his own creation and half the bottle of the vin…and was now passed out on canapé. 

I ate my portion, put Amalie to bed and then came back into the living room where he was still deep in a drunken slumber.

I lifted up my stiletto’d foot and poked him in the leg.

” Hey you…!” I said. He cracked his eyes open. ” Frenchy!”

He opened his eyes a little wider.

” What do you want?” He asked.

” Did you drink that whole bottle of wine.”

” Everything I didn’t use for the dish.” He said, rubbing his eyes, they looked like they were going to close at any minute.

I went over to the couch and hiking up my skirt, went to straddle him, his eyes all of a sudden grew wide and something else began to get very big…

” What do you want.”

” What do I want, are you that drunk?…How about a little less vin, a little more coq?” I asked.

He barely responded…he was THAT drunk, but I knew just how to fix that…As he looked as if he was about to go back to sleep, I shimmied down and grabbed the waist band of his pants and slowly unbuttoned and then unzip them. The top half of him wasn’t quite sure what was going on yet, but the bottom half sure did.

As soon as my warm, smooth tongue made contact with him, he was awake and alert. As I continued I could hear him moan as he reached to run his hand through the length of my hair.

A Beginning And An End

Sorry I’ve been absent for the last few days…I’ve been doing something kind of important.  That is, probably the worst thing…and the best thing that could ever happen to a woman at one moment…having a baby…or two.

Two days ago I was introduced to a daughter…and a son. Unlike the my last pregnancy which I blog about a lot, this one I have kept mum about for a large part.

Their names are Thierry and Vivienne and they are beautiful.

Charlotte is Vivienne’s middle name which  I chose to honor my daughter Charlotte who passed away to show her that though she is gone, I still think of her everyday.

They came into world two months early, just like Amalie and Charlotte where. Right now they are in the hospital getting care in the neo-natal unit and I am just waiting for them to come out so they can meet their older sister.

Knowing that I have three beautiful children is enough for me…Mr. D and I had a long talk and we decided the best thing for me to do was to not have anymore…and make sure it is not going to happen.

That is why I decided to have my tubes tied, I have to say, it was one of the hardest choices to make and one of the easiest. As much as I love kids, the thought of being Michelle Duggar or Octomom REALLY does not turn me on.

So I did it, and after…I have to say, I had a sense of relief. Knowing me with my head strong sex drive and appetite for sex and lots of it…it’s better knowing nothing is going to happen and I can just enjoy sex with the man I love–and maybe some lucky others–without having to worry about the stork bringing yet another bundle–or two–of joy.

Six Reasons Why Marriage Is Evil.

As soon as I can get out of this white poufy dress I'm swiping your wallet and hitting you up for alimony. Sucka!

My thought on marriage is that people should be forced to go through an intensive head examination with a shrink and once–and only once they are found to certifiably insane should they be allowed to marry, the ones that are reasonably sane should be shown the door and told that despite their urge to get married in the moment, they might regret the decision once faced the horrors of monogamy and the wrath of an ex spouse hell-bent on destroying them and rendering them into a worthless, cash poor emotionally castrated cowering pile of goo.

Unfortunately, I was once one of those mostly  ( emphasis on MOSTLY) who wanted to get married.

Fuck. What was I thinking!

Today I am finally winnowing my free from marriage’s net and pursuing a life living in sin (with a very good-looking Frenchman to boot). He is constantly bringing up the debate of why we should get married, led mostly by the argument it would be better for our children.

Here are several reasons in no particular order why I won’t be tying the knot again. If you are thinking of get marriage ( God help you) please read these over and come to your senses.

1. Monogamy is boring, monogamy forced upon you by the United States government is even worse.

2. I don’t want your name. Mine does just fine, Thank you.

3. I don’t want to trade my life’s freedom and happiness for some stupid diamond from Tiffany’s. If I want, I can get my own ring…all you need to do is buy me some cracker-jacks.

4. Marriage is great…for about five minutes. After that, you realize you’ve been screwed…and there’s no way out that doesn’t require you giving up at least half of your stuff and your home.

5. Children can be born without the benefit of marriage ( it’s a scientific fact.)

6. The cost of weddings are ridiculous. Save the money and go and buy yourself a very nice car because if you don’t like it, you can always sell it, no payment of alimony required!

Bestselling Author Shares 3 Tips for Building Your Blog Audience

Reblogged from WordPress.com News:

After moving from New York City to Chicago and getting married, Rachel Bertsche realized that her new life was missing one crucially important thing: a local best friend. So she decided to go on one friend date every week for a year, and she documented her quest on a WordPress.com blog at MWFseekingBFF.com.

But before Rachel even started the blog, the 27-year-old writer put together a book proposal based on her search for a local BFF, and successfully pitched it to agents, and then editors.

Read more… 717 more words

Piece Of Ass

It’s beyond me that I wasted 5 years of my life with some loser when I could have made boat loads of $$$$$ (yep, five dollar signs) continuing my career as a hooker.

Yeah sure, it’s not as respectible…but it sure would have been a lot more honest.

I spent the last 5 years of my life living a lie. I lied to my family, I lied to my friends, I lied to the readers of my blog and I lied to myself. I pretended like I was happy, I glorified the few good times and tried to forget about all the crap that went on between Marc and I behind closed doors. Only I knew what an ugly, violent and twisted monster he really is.

Abusive. Physically and emotionally.

It all dawned on me one day. I had to leave him. I was sitting looking at my daughters playing on the floor and decided I never wanted them to be me, and I never wanted them to be with a man like Marc.

I wasn’t strong enough to leave for myself, so I left for them.

And honestly, being an escort, as unglamorous as it is…atleast I would have gleaned some respect from my clients…even the worst ones where 1000 times better to me then Marc.

The truth is, I don’t want to be a hooker again…and if I had a choice, it’s actually not something I would ever want for my children. Like all mothers I want them to grow up to be what they dream to be–a rocket scientist, President Of The United States…I’d even settle for the next Jessica Simpson or Kim Kardashian…whatever they wanted…whatever makes them happy.