Posted on by Amanda Brooks

exposure

The WikiLeaks thing has had my attention for a while. The rape charges against Julian Assange leading to an Interpol arrest-warrant? Really? I have two words for you: Roman Polanski. If it’s not a big deal that Roman drugged and raped a young girl, then Julian’s charges aren’t a big deal either. We all know what it’s really about: countries being embarrassed. I’m not sure why. So China is tired of propping up North Korea and no one likes Iran. These are state secrets? This is news? As for the gossiping that politicians do behind each other’s back, well, they obviously forgot that their mothers must’ve said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t put it in a fucking telegram!” Or something to that effect.

Honestly, every country’s media has churned out for more insulting things about each other than these world leaders ever said in these leaks. I’m still waiting for a devastating state secret to be unearthed (spies being outed isn’t the same level of secret; also, I’d like everyone to recall Valerie Plame). Far as I can tell, it sounds a lot like high school with nuclear weapons. (Singapore’s response, invoking their Official Secrets Act, is hilarious.)

While I’m very sure that not everyone agrees with WikiLeaks fulfilling its mission of making leaked material available to all, I think it’s a great way of leveling the playing field. Here’s a chance for countries to get really, really clean with each other. This could be a great experiment in peace and cooperation. The world being what it is, it probably won’t, and things will just remain as they are.

I personally hope that Julian makes it to Venezuela and enjoys a nice vacation courtesy of Hugo Chavez, my favorite contrarian world leader. He’s not a supporter of sex worker rights. If he only had any idea of how much it would piss off the US, I’m sure he would turn his attitude around in a heartbeat. I’ve often wished I could convince him of this.

Which brings us to our own little WikiLeak in the online escort world: the exposing of Alex/a DiCarlo.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

what are you really paying for? 3

Though I repeat (ad nauseam) that you pay for my time/energy, I have now figured out how to prove it!

I don’t sell my body — it’s still with me when I leave. Though I have occasionally left possessions behind, I’ve yet to leave behind any bit or piece of me. When I’m naked, my body is very conveniently made so that it’s all attached into one smooth package. It’s awfully great in a business like this because I don’t accidentally leave important working bits behind without payment, so nobody can steal my body either.

Now that I’ve proven I’m not selling my body, here’s how I prove I’m selling my time: when I leave my client, I leave behind part of my day (or evening) that I will never get back. In my life, time only moves forward, therefore the time I’ve spent with my clients is gone, never to be regained. I have effectively sold my time.

The personal energy I’ve expended with my client goes with him as well, though I can replenish my personal energy. So maybe I don’t sell my energy after all. I most certainly sell my time. The sex is always free.

Though I’m speaking of my own perspective, I honestly don’t believe any sex worker sells her body though some clearly do sell sex acts. I do believe unhappy sex workers or those in coercive situations are selling their personal energy and it’s not being replenished. (Or it’s is being sold for them without their consent.) Being psychologically-drained leads to problems, regardless of the job. Of course, all are selling their time because they, like me, will never get that time back.

Please note: Zombie sex workers or those suffering leprosy may have body-containment issues I do not.

Posted on by Amanda Brooks

words for he-man hooker-haters

There isn’t a lot of hating on my blog; I don’t get the traffic to draw the haters or I scare them off or something. Or else the bulk of their comments get auto-moderated (I have set my spam filter with some key words for a reason). But then someone posts something completely innocent online and here come the haters.

Specifically, I’m referring to Tracy Quan’s light and engaging piece on talking to a call girl. You can sure disagree with what she says. Or you can think it’s a fluff-piece. Or you think it’s a brilliant little butterfly of a post. Whatever you fancy. Then you scroll down and find the hater comments all out of proportion to her piece.

Apparently, they’re not aware of the irony that they are talking to a call girl by responding to an article she wrote. I see the same things over and over again at a number of places online. So I decided to offer some suggestions and thoughts for the haters to consider.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

my advancing decrepitude

As some of you noticed (thank you!), I just turned 35. If you haven’t noticed, well, now you know. I didn’t think much of it, actually. Was just surprised the date rolled around so fast, October 2009 was really only like 2 months ago, right??? (My mom, always good for a thought, cheerfully reminded me that I’m halfway to 70. I’ll have to put that in my ad text.)

What I didn’t expect was the little “ouch” of putting that extra year into my ads. Unlike many and unlike what I used to do, I don’t lie about my age right now. I certainly could — I could easily get away with 8-10yrs younger. But why? I don’t fake orgasms, I am how old I am. I really don’t have a lot of choice in the matter (I’m either this old or I’m dead).

I experienced ageism back when I was a young and tender 33. At the advanced age of 35 I think people are just throwing their hands into the air and giving up (I found an escort today who won’t exchange links with anyone over 33). In Asia where everyone looks very young and the most common escorts are young, it can be difficult to be honest about age (very difficult to be okay being an XXL in local clothing sizes, which translates into a US size 6-8, depending.)

There have been potential clients who have passed me up because I’ve gone around the sun too many times. Then there are younger guys who seem to expect me to literally be a cougar: pin them to the bed, open my claws and have my way with them (this is my style about as often as the planets align). I present myself honestly on my website and ads, yet guys are still often surprised by me one way or another. I look just like my photos, except that I’m not as tanned right now (the French Riviera was good for that, if nothing else).

I’m not a MILF — I have no children. I’m not a cougar — I feel I’m just barely out of girlhood, really. I’m just 35. That’s all. It’s how old I happen to be.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

floating blossom

Mizu shobai. The water trade. It is a constant stream, ebbing and flowing.

I’ve spent nights in ridiculously expensive suites in some of the best hotels in the world and bug-infested little rooms (hotels can offer more kinds of bugs than just cockroaches, BTW). One morning I checked out of my hotel with my bank account severely overdrawn and no place to go, that night I had a nice room paid for 3 nights and was $1000 to the good. I’ve been ripped off. I’ve been shorted. I’ve been tipped with lots of extra money and beautiful gifts. I’ve worked in situations and at rates most of my friends would never deign to do. I’ve worked in situations and at rates many envy.

The water trade. Continually ebbing and flowing.

I’ve had sex with soldiers, farmers, fellow adventurers and executives. I’ve had no sex with clients — very often. Men have cried, laughed, loved with me. I’ve had days where every single client screwed me into the mattress (God bless Australia). I have “done it for the money” because I disliked the client so much (this is very rare). I’ve fallen in love, knowing I will never see them again (this happens more often than the disliking bit). I’ve been bored, annoyed, drained, turned into a purring puddle of goo, energized, refreshed, happy. “Happy” is my most common reaction.

The water trade. It ebbs and flows.

I had a private incall for a while. I’ve done outcall-only. I often work out of my living space when on the road (hotel rooms). I have no actual home right now. I have 1 big bag, 1 purse, 1 netbook (and am now memory-stick free!). I’ve been wearing the basically the same clothes/shoes for well over a year (yes, I wash). My non-work wardrobe is centered around t-shirts/shorts/flip flops. I try not to spend more than $20 on a non-work clothing item because I just care that much.

Ebbs and flows.

I could’ve stayed home, re-built my escort business in 2008 and made a lot of money. I know the business, I know how to do it. I watch the girls who have read my books, I see their success. There but for the desire to re-follow that path goes I. I’ve made and spent my money. I have found and lost love. I’ve gone to a number of places, stayed in hotel rooms and seen nothing. I’ve seen beauty of great significance to me, I carry it with me until my memory fades. I don’t take a lot of photos, considering. I’ve stopped planning my life.

Ebb and flow.

We are all connected. The more I learn, the simpler and more infinite everything becomes.

Mizu shobai.

We are composed of over 60% water. The earth’s surface is 75% covered in water. The search for life in space begins with the search for water. We can be born in water. We quickly die without water. It is basic to our lives.

Sex is just as essential. It is the very concept of life. As one of my friends puts it, every single one of us is a “walking orgasm.”

Prostitution is as common as rain, a puddle, a river, a waterfall, an ocean. It comes in every imaginable form, some obvious and some not; some forms beautiful and some not. It is everywhere, limited only by the constraints of that situation.

A constant stream. It ebbs and flows, carrying the blossoms floating on the surface.