Money, Men, Hookers, and Drugs
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Money, Men, Hookers, and Drugs
People hear those words and picture a lie.
Dark alleyways. Dirty men. Broken women in heels and smeared makeup. Needles. Shadows.
That image is comforting.
It keeps the problem ugly and far away.
It keeps everyone feeling superior.
It isn’t real.
The escorts are not the dealers.
We are not the ones supplying drugs.
The drugs usually arrive with men in tailored suits and polished shoes. Men who book five-star hotels and offer cocaine like it’s a privilege. An exclusive drug. Something for the rich. The elite.
But addiction doesn’t become respectable because it’s expensive.
A cocaine addict is no different from someone addicted to ice or heroin. The craving is the same. The desperation is the same. The lies are the same. People steal. Manipulate. Exploit. Take whatever they can to get their fix — whether they’re in a penthouse or on the street.
Society pretends otherwise.
People brag about hotel rooms and “good coke.”
Nobody romanticises crack pipes.
Both drugs destroy lives.
Both kill people every day.
One is just easier to excuse.
In this world, escorts are treated like bargaining chips. Men try to lower prices by offering drugs instead of money, as if their habit should count as payment. When we say no, they’re offended. Not because they’re moral — but because they still want control.
The irony is brutal. Cocaine often stops them from even functioning sexually. Thousands of dollars spent chasing pleasure while taking something that makes it impossible. Power collapses quietly in expensive rooms.
One man sticks with me. A well-known real estate figure. Charming. Polished. Convincing. He couldn’t afford a full session and paid for half an hour of conversation. I stayed longer because he was engaging. Still, my gut knew the truth.
He saw people as disposable.
The next day came the messages. Desperation. Tragedy. Promises to pay me back. Every instinct said he wouldn’t — and he didn’t. Later I learned he was thousands behind in rent, child support, and debt. All because of cocaine.
He didn’t ask his wealthy friends.
He didn’t ask family.
He asked me.
Because to him, I was safe to take from.
At the other end of the scale was a young man completely broken, talking about ending his life. I paid his rent. I hired a lawyer. I tried to help.
Then he disappeared.
When I found him, he was barely alive. Covered in urine and vomit. Overdosed while his friends were too scared to call an ambulance in case police were involved. I called. I administered first aid.
That kindness cost me.
From touching him, I contracted golden staph and impetigo. Raw sores on my face. Hospital. Ongoing treatment. I can’t work. I wear silicone dressings to prevent permanent scarring.
From the man whose life I tried to save, I received nothing but abuse.
No responsibility.
No care.
No humanity.
So yes — my faith is shaken. It hurts to give when people only take. I wonder if it would be easier to become transactional. To turn compassion into leverage.
But that isn’t me.
And I refuse to become it.
Then came another blow. A call telling me my niece had been brutally attacked. Beaten unconscious. Then beaten again. Deliberately using hands so bruises wouldn’t show. He’s in jail awaiting trial, but conviction rates for this kind of violence are pathetic. And because it’s classified as domestic violence, the punishment may be lighter than if a stranger had done the same thing.
So when do you give up on people?
We live in a world that looks down on escorts as disposable. As less than human. But we are women who feel. Women who hurt. Women who carry other people’s pain while our own is ignored.
I will no longer be ignored.
And still — there is light. People who barely know me have offered help. Support. Care. No conditions attached. That is hope. That is proof that goodness still exists.
There would be more of it if people stopped judging. Stopped assuming. Stopped looking down on those they think are “less than.”
If you know what a woman does for a living, look at her with kindness instead of contempt. We listen. We comfort. We hold secrets, loneliness, and grief. Nobody talks about that.
We are not objects.
We are not disposable.
We are people.
Stop judging us.
We did not wrong you.
We do not chase your partners.
They come to us.
That is the reality.
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE US, WE ARE STRONG, INTELLIGENT AND POWERFUL.
YOU WEAKNESS IS NOT SEEING OUR STRENGTH.
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