I was 15 when I first sold myself. Setting it up through a cousin of mine, I got quite good money for my virginity. And while the other girls were telling their awkward stories or crying over their heartbreak, I soon discovered that mine was quite the best way to go. Boys were idiots anyway. Pretty little puppies that were ready to pay to not be left alone.
At the age of 17, I moved out and went to live in the city. My cousin knew a guy who owned a house where people like me could stay. Nobody asks questions, everybody minds their own business. I shared a room with a woman named Hoang Lan. She came from Vietnam. She had been sold out far younger than me, as her parents were poor and needed the money.
A girl is just a burden in a world made for boys.
The difference between Lan and me was that while I paid a provision to my cousin and was allowed to keep a bit of money for myself, she never saw a dime. Her pimp paid for what she needed, and the rest was sent directly to her parents. So, when we happened to have the same day or night free, we would go out together and I would pay for an ice cream or a fashion magazine for her.
One night she didn't come home. In the world we live in, we have to look out for each other. If no one looks out for you, you risk being swallowed by the night without anybody even realizing you ever existed. Another benefit if you work for your family. Saying nobody cared that she was gone is a huge understatement. I was the only one that apparently had noticed her existence. A day after Lan disappeared, a young girl moved in, taking her place. This was the first time I stepped out of line and went to the police stations nearby where she usually worked, checking if there was a Jane Doe matching her description.
There was.
I was able to identify my first best friend at the age of 19.
After Lan was brutally murdered. They had dumped her in some alley, as if she was trash.
She wasn't.
She never told me her age, but she was certainly younger than me. The new girl I shared a room with was a mess and an addict. It was quite a challenge sharing the room with her, as coke and I didn't go well together. I asked my landlord to change rooms and got beat up for it.
By the age of 22, I paid the last rate for Lan's funeral and tombstone to the nice undertaker lady who buried her without distorting her face in disgust. She gave me the chance to re-pay her at small and irregular rates.
God bless her soul.
At the age of 25, I got my first apartment and was introduced to the world of escorts. It took me a year to be booked fully and be able to get off the streets. My small and scruffy apartment soon morphed into a small fancy apartment uptown. As I was always dressed elegantly for the job and worked by day, my neighbors treated me with kindness and respect.
Something I had never experienced until I was 27.