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The Apple and the Tree (The Legacy of Charlie Whores)

February 17th, 2010

As I said in my first post, most of my friends, as well as several strangers I’ve met at parties or bars, know what I do for a living. I’m not ashamed of it. And if someone is the type to judge, I probably wouldn’t last long as their friend or acquaintance anyway. What I didn’t mention is that none of my family knows, except for my younger sister.

Now, my sister isn’t much younger than I. She’ll be of age later this year. There is enough of an age difference, however, that I’ve gotten to fuck up long before her. In the past, she’s insisted she’ll never be a fuck up. She’s called me a slut. And a drunk. And said she hates me. And she’ll never be like me. I know this because I stole her diary one night and read it. I’m an awesome big sister. Anyway, one day she found my work bag. In accordance with my line of work, my work bag is not the typical briefcase or purse. In place of files and laptops or a wallet and Red Bulls (or whatever it is women keep in their purses), I have several sets of lingerie and about three different cosmetic bags. Oh, and a set of fuzzy handcuffs and a crop. More on that later. In any event, she came to the conclusion that everyone else does when I say I work in the adult industry: I must be a stripper.

When she finally balled up and asked about my job, I explained it to her. I have enough leverage on my sister and her little pot smoking boyfriend that I know she’ll keep my secrets. Instead of being horrified, she was psyched. And I guess I can see why an outsider would. The money is amazing. The sex is vanilla (which may not be exciting to some, but you realize over time that vanilla sex ends quicker, and quicker is often better). The hours are extremely flexible. Of course, there is a trade off. It’s emotionally taxing. It’s hard, even impossible, to maintain a happy romantic relationship. Some women lost their dignity and their minds. But no seventeen year old is thinking of that. No, all they’re thinking of is how they’ve never seen that much money from one night’s work in their lives.

So she’s thinking of following my footsteps into hookerdom. On one hand, I know she’d do well. She may be seventeen, but she looks about twelve. Throw her in a schoolgirl costume and the pervs will come running. It’ll be like Britney Spears before she lost her marbles and her kids. On the other hand, I’m absolutely terrified. I am what I am, and I’m happy with myself, but that doesn’t mean I want my teeny tiny Twiggy look-a-like sister doing what I do. She’s easily broken, both physically and emotionally. She’s too good for this.

Yeah, I said it.

Maybe I’ll offer to buy her a car if she avoids this life. Teenagers are easy to bribe, right?

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