So last night I started the book Fast Girl and honestly I do not know if I should continue. Maybe I do not need the cautionary tale of a woman with mental illness who became a successful escort in Vegas and then came to her senses.
The first few pages had me hooked as I could fully understand the high she got from sex, being at the top of her game and placed on a pedestal by successful men for the sex she had to offer. Sex that they did not simply receive at home.
For instance, when she went to the Louis Vuitton store in her Laboutins and form fitting dress, paying in crisp $100 bills and that everyone knew she was a high priced escort and she gave no fucks. And when she just wanted to be the most in demand and regarded escort, I was like sign me up.
Sometimes, I really think I am fucked in the head that I relate to this. Like I am a successful, married mother of two, why does this appeal to me so strongly?
I remember when I heard on This American Life the story on how to be a pimp and turn out your first girl. (Spoiler alert, it’s generally your girlfriend). I was mesmerized and slightly horrified that I couldn’t figure out that the rates for a hotel I rode the bus by everyday were by the quarter hour. I don’t only look innocent, sometimes I am just not aware.
But from then on, I felt like I wanted to be a Madam. The kind with the classy girls and the bankrolled clientele.
Maybe turn a trick or two occasionally to remind myself what it felt like and that I was “just one of the girls.”
But would sex be as pleasurable and fun if it was a job? Probably not. It’s one of the reasons I always kept nudity on my tumblr blog “free” as I never wanted to please a “customer.” I only posted to give me that rush.
Maybe this book isn’t the right book for a girl like me, but I won’t know until I finish it…
– The Girl