Throughout my blog you find little glimpses into my past. That’s all about to change. With the encouragement of a dear friend, it seems the time has come to open up and share about my past and the journey to becoming a sex blogger.
Many of you know that years ago I was stripper, but I haven’t really shared much about that time of my life. I think my years in New Orleans have had a profound influence on my life now, so it seems like a good place to start.
I must have been around 14 or 15 when I packed my bags and headed out. Not knowing where I was going, I found myself at a truck stop. Sitting there on the curb, it was only a short time before someone offered me a ride.
After a hitch hiking across the country for a while, one day I was at a truck stop near New Orleans. Unable to resist visiting the party in the French Quarter that I’d heard so much about, I hitched a ride down into the cite.
Walking down Bourbon Street for the first time, I was captivated by the sights and sounds of the Quarter. It wasn’t long before a sign in one window caught my attention; “Dancers Wanted”. With confidence in my classical dance training, I was sure I could get a job.
The doorman sat me down at the bar and I waited for the owner. I’m not sure if I was nieve or just didn’t notice that all the girls on stage were half naked, but by the end of the night I had my first job. I was a stripper. Of course, as a runaway I had very little clothes . More than happy to help me out, my new boss bought me an outfit at a shop down the street. I had no idea the price I was going to pay for a skirt and top.
After the bar closed, I had nowhere to go, so the owner took me home to his house. I can remember sitting in his car thinking about how nice he was; boy was I wrong. Who knows how long I was really there, I only remember bits and pieces of those early days. But by the time I left, his cocaine had full control of me. One day, he drove me to a house and left there with a man. Little did I know, he was my now my pimp.
I don’t think I realized it for a while. I was getting high and being taken care of. At least that’s what I thought, until the first beating came. One night, after not making five-hundred dollars I was beat and sent back out to find a way to make up the difference. With the clubs now closed I had only one choice, sell myself.
I stayed for years in the French Quarter. I learned quickly how to hustle men and do anything that I had to in the club to keep me from having to walk the streets latter. The beatings became constant, if it wasn’t because of the money; it was because I did something else that he deemed wrong. Why I would want to stay with this man I don’t have a clue. However, we ended up married. I was now his wifey but I was never treated like his top girl and being married didn’t come with any of the typical pimp’s wifey privileges.
It wasn’t long before I was pregnant. Thankfully, I wasn’t forced to have an abortion this time and I got to keep my baby. After she was born, I began to find my own two feet. It still took a while, but I was on my way out of New Orleans.
It was another year before I left. But when the time came, boy did I stick it to him. With the help of a friend, the day I got away we took every single thing that I couldn’t ship out on Amtrak to a GoodWill donation center. Not just a few things, I literately took everything from the house, two cars and a small shrimp boat. When he came home there wasn’t going to be a single thing left for him. Needless to say, I was very proud of myself.
Knowing that my flight out of the city was due to leave soon, we headed out for the air port. Unfortunately, we didn’t get far; I was caught. With our daughter in the car and me pregnant again, I was pulled out of the car and beat again. Fighting back with all that I could, I managed to get a few good hits in. Once he was convinced that I would now lose the baby and that I’d be unable to travel, he left to find his stuff.
Despite it all, I made it to the air port. I was bloody and bruised, but I was leaving. Freedom had come at last. I was off to make a new life for my family
Determined to leave behind all that I had become over the past eight years, I became a whole new person. The journey to becoming the Lori that everyone now knows was rocky, to say the least. But, it was mine to live. I never again let anyone control me or hurt me for their pleasure. I was free and my family was safe.
Lori you are amazing and I absolutely love that you embody something that I have been thinking about as I write an article for my blog on unwanted intercourse- just because one has been a sex worker or been sexually assaulted/molested/raped does NOT mean that one is automatically wounded for life in the sex dept. we can still be healthy well adapted sex loving adults
Thank you for sharing your stories and I truly hope that you will join me in Tales From The Trade.
Wow…. I didn’t know all of (really, any of this.) I’m proud of you for sharing, and it moves me to see you open up like this!
Thanks so much for sharing your story Lori.