Dating a former prostitute
I had spent the entirety of my adult life writing made-up stories about down-and-out female protagonists with daddy issues and trying to figure out what I really wanted to for a living.
He was a dropout with a broken attitude who kept moving to new cities until he scraped together enough money to move out to the next one.
We spent a full hour batting our gleeful disgust back and forth.
When I saw the barback again, working at the bar like the night we first met, he looked different.
His hair seemed longer, his face older, V-neck deeper, eyes crazy, not cute.
My father once came across a man splayed out in a parking lot and helped administer CPR for several minutes before he realized that the man was a friend. My dad told me that our features transform when the life goes out of us. I’d pushed this boy down so far in my mind that he turned under the weight of my judgment.
I found my barback’s ads and pored over each one—same age, same neighborhood, str8 boi, clean, small, fit, cute, free all day until his 8 o’clock bar shift. His services expanded desperately as his posts neared the first of the month. My irrational hatred of my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend bottomed out there, along with my deepest personal anxieties and all the residual shame drilled into me from years of Arizona sex ed. Then again, my ex-boyfriend had expressed real interest in my life for the first time in months. I copied the links to the ads and sent them to him, one after another.“Amanda,” my ex responded, “he has sex with these men.” I conceded that murder was a red flag. Sitting there on my carpet, it was easy for him to insist and me to nod and us both to pretend that he was living how he really wanted.My ex called him a “manwhore” and pressed me for details. Seeing his reality spelled out for anyone to read made me sad and, unexpectedly, repulsed.She says money, and the perception it’s “easy money,” is an alluring part of sex trade.She said she made “preposterous” amounts of money at 17 -- 0 to 0 a night.