the rest of my life

And then one day someone offers to set you free, and pay for your freedom. And freedom does cost money, it does cost to escape even though you didn’t know you weren’t free, not really.

And then you start living your life for the first time ever. Each day you count “Today is the first day of the rest of my life” and “The second day…” and “The third day…” and you feel each day as they are, as a newborn. Cleansing rituals are performed but almost unnecessary. Your soul knows.

And then you start discovering you have to relearn your body. That once it used to do this and be capable of that; long ago. You don’t remember how it felt anymore, only that it happened. And maybe it can happen once again. With time. And love. And freedom.

And the ransom, for that’s what it really was, is paid without blame or expectations. All you have to do is live and follow your heart. It’s you who has to tear down the walls around it, it’s you who has to figure it out. You have the time now, the freedom, it’s been bought and paid for.

And you keep counting “Today is the seventh day of the rest of my life” and erasing everything you can, tossing out so much, selling what might bring some money on the open market but that’s not you anymore and you couldn’t be happier.

And one day you realize your body is yours again, you realize it wasn’t yours for so long, a lifetime.

And the only person who touches you is someone you love, no one else. No one else. There is no sharing with others. There is only an equal exchange and no boundaries and freedom. No pain, no mauling, no fumbling, no stupidity, no anger, no resentment, no boredom. Freedom and joy and uninhibited pleasure and devil-may-care fun. Waking up every day together in the same bed, the bed that invites sleep and cuddles and the desire to never leave its comfy confines (the dangers of wonderful sheets and blankets and a body heat generator next to you). Sometimes he starts the tea, but only if he suspects you’ll actually get up.

And there are plans, of course. And things could go to ruin, of course. For once, why think of it? You are free. You can plan together, share the worries together.

And it’s not said but you know how it happened. He waited until you broke yourself, until you knew you could not go forward another inch, your soul was speared and gutted, then he made the offer. Not so you wouldn’t refuse but because you were finally ready to see clearly and see what everything was and was not.

And because he hated watching you suffer, each and every time, worse and worse.

And there has been so much clarity. The important thing is happening though, every single day of the rest of your life: you wake up free. The gratitude for your freedom, your new life, is humbling. The rest starts falling away like a molted shell, let it rot where it falls. It never contained much good to start with. The clarity is ruthless and embarrassing.

And clear vision has never changed the past, how could it? It only maps the future. The first days of the rest of your life.

a quick update

I added a little update at the bottom of my burnout post. After even more time away from life as Amanda, and other positive life changes, I’ve made a decision based on many personal revelations and much thought.

The comments are turned off on this blog from now and forever. I will Tweet every now and then, but am never going to engage with anyone on Twitter again. If you have my email address, you can use it, but I probably won’t respond. I’m not interested in mainstream media, not unless an exceptional opportunity arises. By “exceptional”, of course I mean “paid” and by “paid” I mean “well-paid” which means it probably won’t happen at all.

I’m in the process of gathering materials (and thoughts) for a few more escort-related books. I can see a minimum of two and a maximum of six coming out over the next year or two, depending on several factors. Ebooks, produced as professionally as possible, perhaps with POD options. I’m not going to bother doing print runs again. It’s more hassle than I feel like doing, certainly more upfront costs for me, though I know sex workers love to build actual libraries (I’m one them). That means I’ll be forced to buy myself POD copies too. 🙁

Speaking of print books, I’m selling out the last of my copies of Book 2. Haters are encouraged to buy out my remaining stock at full retail price to hold a bonfire or whatever. I’m both a sex worker and a writer. My type of people like getting paid.

Book updates/news/notes will posted on Twitter, of course. I’ll finally use it as book promotion like I should have been doing all along.

I’ll do my best to publish helpful information, because sex workers certainly deserve to have options, and the experiences of others in order to make decisions. I’m even going to write a book for clients and it’s probably not going to be anything like what you’d expect from me, for good or ill.

I’m aware my acknowledged audience is tiny, I’m also aware that I’ve helped shaped this industry, whether acknowledged or not (usually not, and usually while being completely ripped off, sometimes by people who claim to be of higher ethical standards than I). I’m also aware all of this is spectacularly bad timing, but my life has been nothing if not badly-timed, so this is completely on-brand.

Whatever comes, there will always be men wishing to indulge in paid sex and/or companionship, and there will always be women wishing to offer it. And the concepts of providing are eternal, even if current society or the technology changes.

And then I’m done with producing books (as Amanda).

There are other things I’m working on and places I see myself going that don’t involve any of you, or Amanda. I like that.

I’m sure there will be one final concluding essay to all this before I go, for those who have followed me this long. My story arc will be concluded, as it were, as gracefully as I might be able. It may not be nice but it will be honest.

There is so much clarity that comes with distance and time.

Sex work burnout: a very long journey

Burnout. Every career has its version and sex work probably has higher rates because the work is so much more personal, because sex workers shoulder such a huge portion of the work individually. A stripper cannot outsource her work and make a living. An escort can outsource some of her administrative work, but has to make more money in order to pay for that luxury. We cannot clone our selves to go meet clients. Scaling up or out is impossible. At best, we can make and sell content for passive income, or raise our rates. We still have to do the actual work though, whether writing, photographing, interacting, and showing up.

This is my very long essay of my journey into and out of burnout. I’m still in the process but am through the worst and am on my way out. Take what you find valuable, if anything, and I sincerely hope it helps you. This is not a “poor Amanda” essay, some of these issues have been self-caused and it has taken solid moments of clarity to realize this. Avoid my mistakes and do better.

There are many ways to organize this and I felt chronologically would be best for you. It’s not how the feelings and experiences are organized in my head, but you don’t live in my head. I’ve done my best to make the steps of the journey clear to both of us.

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i’m finally publishing something

As some of you may, or likely not, have noticed; things are changing around here and my book’s website. Thank you, SESTA/FOSTA, for that.

One thing that is very different with the book’s site redesign is that the book’s companion blog, The Notebook, is gone. I published there from 2006-2015. I have no idea how many people actually read it, or not. In fact, I had the impression that it was outdated and full of shit.

Not true! I’ve gathered the posts, tossed the ones that weren’t authored by me and that aren’t relevant to readers now, updated links, updated many of the postings with new information, added new material that hasn’t been published before. I’m creating an ebook out of the posts and expect it to be selling before the end of December.

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rules for strippers

Can’t believe I’ve never ever posted this little gem that I wrote after stripping for six months. It was for a college photo project (it ended up not working because too much text) but I’ve kept these words ever since.

After twenty years as a sex worker, I can congratulate my younger self on my quick wisdom. These rules are solid and have never been disproven.

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