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Monday, January 05, 2004

I wrote this just now, musing about sex work. Since I think about sex work so much, I decided to write from the perspective of Leticia the Aspiring Prostitute. Here ya go:

I wanna be a prostitute.

Seriously. It’s not bad. I want to please a thousand men a day and hear their simultaneous cries of joy and agony with relief and satisfaction. I have done my job. I have turned men on.

I want to walk down the street in day-glo short shorts and go-go boots and give men the knowing glance that I’m for sale, that the space between my legs is for rent and that I can cheer up any sullen mood.

I want to eat men, I want them inside me, inside my vagina’s clamp, sucking them in to my world. I want to trap men in my arms, never to come back. One taste of Leticia and you will be begging for more.

I want to melt, I want to be consumed. I want to be a commodity. I want to be licked off the floor by eager men wanting more of the tantalizing Leticia taste. I want to be eaten, in full, without clothes, so that somebody can know what I taste like. I want to be part of the world.

(If you haven’t guessed, I’m lonely.)
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