A note about the author and this blog

OK Lar, you highlight all this text then right click, then left click on copy, then you do that again in the blog but click on paste.  If you're stuck, email me, K.  

This blog is about the story of a woman named Larissa.   The story is not fabricated and the characters are indeed real, including me.   I am Mark.   This blog is the story of the life of a single sex worker; in no way shape or form does it represent all women that women in the sex trade.  I would venture to say it’s rather likely this story isn’t unique.  The details are graphic & may be disturbing but they were her reality.  

Larissa was raised in a small city in Southern Ontario.  Her mother was an alcoholic and, to my knowledge, continues to have issues with drinking to this day.  Larissa suffers from fetal alcoholic syndrome which has impaired her ability to write; hence the poor vocabulary in the blog.  Initially she was against writing it for fear people would “laugh at her”.  She had requested I write the blog but a journey in life is best told by the first person, not a 3^rd party.  I suspect fetal alcohol syndrome is also responsible for her inability to study in high school & subsequently having her drop out.  She is also prone to emotional outbursts of rage & anger.  These subsided with counseling but it’s who she is & what she is.  The time I spent living with her was a rollercoaster of emotions for both of us.  I was admittedly ill prepared as a man to date someone as broken & filled with rage as Larissa.  In a perfect world I’d tell you how I loved having her around, but in the initial stages it was all about pity for another person not love or compassion.  

I admit, reading this blog is disconcerting for me because I’ve come to realize that the early stages of our relationship were more about what she could take and run with than about my feelings or emotions.  It also took me a great deal of time to fully grasp her past and her chosen profession.  I think it goes without saying that dating a sex worker, former or active, is not something I envisioned would happened in life.   Until I met Larissa I had assumed I was a free thinker and accepted prostitution.  My time with Larissa showed me I had an incredibly stereotypical view of women in the sex trade.  My judgments were based on information I’d gathered from the newspaper, Hollywood & my own ingrained perception of the world of prostitute.  It’s difficult to verbalize what I “thought” a prostitute would look like but I never envisioned she would be just like the girl next door.   I now count several sex workers as my friends & they’re incredibly wonderful people who have hopes and dreams along with true inner beauty.  

Larissa wrote this blog while in Calgary, Alberta, Canada spending some time with me for personal reasons.  Much of this blog was tapped out on my laptop at a local Café we frequented as a couple.  I had no input in this blog outside of teaching her how to set up the blog on Blogger.com and how to create a post, link things, etc.  These words are her words.  

 She will/has return to Greece and will continue her pursuit of becoming a chef.  Her one dream was to travel to Europe & experience life in another country.  Happily, she’s started down the road to achieving her dreams and goals.  In a perfect world one hopes for a fairy tale ending akin to the movie Pretty Woman.  That is not the case.  Larissa continues to resent males & has difficulty with male female relationships at any level.  She still holds in a great deal of rage about her pasts but has come to learn she was a victim of something beyond her control.  The path she took was her own but that past was controlled by her own addictions and her anger towards herself, her family and the world around her.  The deep seated issues that Larissa had will take years, not months to dissipate.  I’m hoping a positive life will allow her to fully understand herself and recognize who she is.  And I hope she recognizes that her failures & mistakes in life were less about her choices and more about her surroundings growing up.   I am incredibly PROUD of this woman for having the inner strength to share her story & face criticism & accusations from others reading it.  This blog is for everyone.  It’s thought for teens living in broken homes.  It’s thought for those working in the sex trade or considering it.  It’s thought for the men that use the services of the sex workers.  It’s thought for society in general.  

The sex trade is engrained in modern society and has existed as long as humankind has existed.  The pursuit of sex for money for whatever reason will never cease.  It’s an innate need of males.  As a society we need to recognize this and support the decriminalization of the sex industry.  The control of this trade needs to lie in the hands of the women selling sex.  Not in the hands of the government, the pimps, the thugs, drugs,  or unscrupulous owners of massage parlours & micros.  It needs to be in the hands of the men and women that ply this trade.  If you are a customer (pooner) of service providers (SP’s) please reflect on your own stereotypes of sex workers.   It’s not just the service providers that need to press for change; it’s the clients of the service providers.   Be that person.  Let’s hope for a day when buying sex is as acceptable as buying a cup of coffee. 

Please support the decriminalization of prostitution.

My name is Larissa

My name is Larissa.  I am 29 years old.  I work to be a chef.  I have dreams.  I will travel.  I will see Europe.  My life now?  I live my dreams.  Not my nightmare. I used to think this. I thought my life was bad.  Now, no way.  I don't see the bad. I see the good.  Some people love me.  They tell me.  You can do it.  Who can ask for more? 

Are you a whore?  Do you want to leave?  Are you afraid?  You can go.  You can leave.  You are smart.  You can make it.  It's gonna be tough.  You will cry.  You will be scared.  You will fear for money.  But you can make it.  You can have your dreams too.  Your dreams won't come to you.  You must go get them.  So you get them.  You can do it.  You forget the past.  And look for the good in life.  No matter how small.  It's the good you must find

Then one day.  You will see it.  The sun is shining.  And your skies are blue.  

This is the end.  Thank you for reading this.


Luv,
Larissa

A brand new life

I will go. It's home. It's Greece.  Papa's girlfriend comes.  He gets my suitcase.  I look around the house.  It's a house. I was a little girl here.  I had butterflys in my hair.  I think.  My mom hits me.  Drinks too much.  The little girl.  She is a big girl.  She is angry.  Soon she will leave.  Then her life goes bad.  So long it was.  All those years.  Where are they?   I can't go back.  I wish I can.  How much I missed.  I think it's sad.  I go all over.  I go outside.  I look at the tree.  I look at my room.  I tell Papa, don't change it.  Not until he sells the house.

We drive.  We have time.  I tell Papa.  Go the old road.  It's Hwy 7.  We don't take the 401.  Why?  Long ago.  I come to see Papa.  You remember?  He sends me to Banff.  Well the bus goes this road.  This road brings me.  Now I go back that way.  It's the end of this life.  It's the end of everything.

Papa tells me.  You play the radio.  My stuff.  I switch it.  I can sing in the car.  I sit in the front seat.  I send Marky a text.  I tell him.  I go home.  We do this all the time.  Inside I am sad. Before I go to Greece.  It's a vacation.  Now it's not.  I won't come back.  I hum the song.  Papa talks to his girlfriend.  I look out the window.  The trees are changing.  It's pretty.  The houses are big.  I think.  I remember the bus.  Coming from Toronto so long ago.  I am addicted to crack.  In the apartment.  Just smoke and drink.  I am dead.  I remember that bus.  I am low.  I am desperate.  I think what happened.  Does like get better?  I stop to smoking crack. But it's not better.  It gets a bit better.  I am hollow.  No feelings for so long.  I look out the window now.  Now is different.  I go home.  I return to be a chef.  I know it.  I won't come to Canada.  Maybe for vacation.  Maybe to visit two people. 

I think.  I don't like men. If they are close.  I feel no trust. But, 2 men change me.  Papa and Marky.  It seems funny.  Like it shouldn't be.  How can I hate men.  Yet 2 help change me.  I showed Papa this blog.  I said you can read it.  I don't be ashamed now.  I don't hide my life.  He reads it.  He is upset.  He tells me he failed me.  He even cries.  I tell him no way.  Papa keeps me going.  I think.  I can take pills.  Go to sleep.  Who will care?  Not me.  But Papa would care.  All his life he lives.  Thinking what mistakes he made.  When I cry in bed.  I think about Papa.  I told him.  He is the best father a girl has.  In any life.  No one is better.  I make mistakes.   He don't give up on me.  And  I can't give up on him.  Even when I am a horrible person.  He don't give up.  Now he is happy.  This girlfriend likes him.  They like the same things.  They like bowling.  They like fishing.  They like a steak.  I pray to God.  He can make this happen.  Papa works his lief.  Has nothing.  Just bad women.  Me and Mom. 

Then is Mark.  He is like Papa 2.  I watch this song.  It's Eninem.  It's a big song. It's Love the way you lye  The  video shows two that fight.  I watch it.  It reminds me.  It's me with Mark.  I think how I lied.  I cheated him.  Steals his money.  I hit him.  I break his things.  I remember I hit him.  Break his tooth.  I remember.  I take the computer.  I take the cable and cut it.  Two pieces. I am angry.  He works so much.  I will stop it.  I scream.  All can hear.  I slam the door so they can hear.  I know it now.  I am not angry at him.  I hate me.  He gets close.  I can't think.  It must be a trick.  I make him hurt.  I wanted too.  I don't know why.  He just sais calm.  Please be calm.  Then he cries.  Then he leaves.  I hear the door.  It's the stairs.  He will walk.  I will see his car.  It drives away.  He will go be alone.  Have a drink.  Come home later.  And is quiet.  Talks quietly.  Or has a drink.  Then he will be happy again.  I wonder how come.  He don't give up.  I know now.  I see it this time.  He is broken too.  He is empty inside.  I mistake it.  Now I know.  He just wants love.  He holds on to me.  Because he loves me.  It's one way street at first.  Then later it's 2 ways. You have a first love.  It's a boyfriend.  You are 15.  Not me.  I have my first love.  I am 28.  Love is tough.  I feel I wonder bad things.  Will he forget me.  Will he leave me?  He can find better.  Who dates a whore?

I know both read this blog.  So I can say this.  In my life 2 people live in my heart.   With each beat.  I love each.  It's a different way.  But each stays forever.  I am sorry.  I am sorry for bad words.  I am sorry I scream.  I am sorry I let you down.  Thank you.  Papa, I hope you get happier.  You deserve a smile.  You are the best Papa.  You  think you are average. No way. You don't give up.  You are my real Papa.  I love you with all me.  Mr Marky.  You spend a lot on me. I know you suffer for it.  Thank you.  You make me laugh when I cry.  You are strong.  You will get better.  Your old life.  It's like mine.  It's gone.  Each day will get better.  The lady in red.  She is like you.  Your heart will smile.  I can feel it. 

It's the airport.  Papa and his girlfriend come in.  It's a long flight.  We go to eat.  I watch Papa.  He laughs.  He smiles.  This woman.  She does too.  You can see it.  It's love I think.  Papa tells her.  Larissa will come back.  Cook him a steak and potato.  He sais to me.  Now there are 2 cooks.  It's good he sais.  He likes to eat. 

We will go.  It's a long hug goodbye.  No tears.  Just smiles.  Papa sais to call.  Use the computer phone.  It's tough but I will.  Greece is ahead 6 hours.  I will go inside.  I wave goodbye.  They wave back.  I send Mark a text.  I am going.  He tells me.  Good luck Lar.  It's what he calls me.  He tells me.  He loves me.  And he writes.  Thank you.  For  coming to see him.  I tell him.  It's what friends do.  They love each other.  He is my friend.  You see.  A good friend.  They love each other too.  Different love.  Time passes. I must go.  We text.  I tell him.  It's time.  He tells me goodbye.  He gets me this phone.  It don't work in Greece.  I will keep it.  To remember.  I send one last text.  I say 2 is always better than 1.  I turn off the phone.  I put in my purse.  The plane goes slow.  It sits then it goes fast.  It goes off the runway.  I look.  I can see Toronto.  I don't see it for a long time.