Essay about when I almost ran away to become a hooker in Quebec is almost done. Snippet under the cut.
I also think I'm going to rewrite the why I don't do cocaine one today.
I am feeling very workman like and like I am catching a cold. My face hurts.
She gave me her card and told me to think about it very carefully. She was going back to Quebec a few days later but took down my name and took a snapshot of my face. We parted ways with kisses on each cheek and her paying for my drinks. I went home and lay alone in bed staring at her card.
I wanted to go. I wanted to go so badly I almost started packing right away. The sex wouldn’t be an issue for me at that point. I knew that already. I knew more about safer sex than I reasonably needed to, I could do the domme thing with some practice, I could be a sub. I was open for other sexual acts. I was really not attached to where I was living or the job I had at the time. I had an idea that I would have some kind of specialties, couples, first timer woman on woman action, suddenly I had this whole new (in my mind) super power brewing.
I was going to get paid to screw the world.