Once a week, I go through the Hushmail address I set up for the purpose of this blog. People write in, some asking me questions while others just compliment the blog and my writing. I don't mind either -- in fact, I thrive on the feedback, and it's great to see people appreciating this blogging venture of mine.
However, there are some downsides, too. Mainly, armchair psychologists who think they can diagnose me with some sort of mental ailment and/or determine why I'm really working as an escort.
As I opened the e-mail and scanned its contents, I was tempted to delete it. Immediately, the writer began recalling the old stereotypes about escorts -- that we're all addicted to drugs, suffering post-traumatic stress from childhood sexual abuse, or trying to support the children we had out of wedlock.
False, false, false -- at least when it comes to me. Actually, scratch that -- neither Rebecca, Adam or myself meet that description.
People, if you want to see a crack whore, take a drive down Biscayne Boulevard in Downtown Miami at night. You'll also find plenty of homeless people in Miami Beach and even Coconut Grove (there's one guy who hangs out near the post office, harassing people for change). I don't advise going into Little Haiti or the Design District, though. While one can find plenty of interesting characters, those neighborhoods aren't the safest.
For the last time, I'm in escorting because I couldn't find a job in my field, and didn't want to move back into my parents' house. I get paid well, have no sexually transmitted diseases and am tested regularly. I wasn't physically/sexually/psychologically abused as a child, and the only drug I take is alcohol -- and only occasionally. One can find worse drunks at a frat party at the University of Miami.
Should I ever feel depressed, I'll seek out help. With a good-paying job and no dependents, I can afford to see a real psychologist, thank you very much. Lastly, I'd like to propose a question for those who are still -- against all evidence -- convinced I was somehow mistreated as a child.
While I hate to say it, men are far more likely to sexually abuse children than women. So, if I were abused as a child, it would most likely have been by a man -- follow my drift?
So pray tell: If I were abused by a man, why would that lead to me having sex for a living... with WOMEN? Shouldn't I have ended up in gay porn? Stalking street corners with the rest of the twinks and rent boys supporting their crystal meth addictions?
It's not that I don't appreciate the concern -- I do. But there are other people who need it far more than I do. Focus the soul-saving crusades for those who are truly in need.
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