Today's Dirty Little Secret

I *like* being a whore. I like it a lot. I like knowing men want me and will pay cash to have me. I like secrecy. I like dressing up. I like getting Starbucks half-light half-regular mocha Frappucino extra whipped cream please without having to raid my car's center console for change. I like buying pretty underwear. I like knowing that someone's going to see my naked body and make an estimate - a high one - about how much time I spend at the gym. I like going out for lunch because I feel like it without filling up with guilt about spending money from the household. I like not being a potential mom, not being an instructor, not being a wife, not being anyone's property. I like getting one more sweater on super double clearance at Nordstrom. I like reading other whore's blogs and agreeing and understanding. I like knowing that if I want to move to Rome or Paris or Prague or Minneapolis and live in a pied-a-terre near the good shopping neighborhood with one bedroom for business and one for pleasure, I can. (Do you think they have whores near the Mall of America?)

I like the word whore. I like that it's dirty. I like it the way I like slut. And Mandy. And mine.

When I was a dancer, about half my time, maybe three-quarters, I did my job and enjoyed physically moving around and swinging on the pole. But every so often, there would be a customer with the right mix of give it to me, please and you will give it to me that I'd get as much out of a dance as he would - more, when you add in the cash.

About two years after Prom, I ended up blowing my prom date. He said, "If I'd only known then what I know now..."

Exactly.