Completely valid question. And more than anything you're probably wondering: why should I care? In reality, a lot of you won't. My lifestyle makes a lot of people upset, and many have even called me a "degenerate slut", and hilariously, they're right. I thrive in the seedy underbelly of the world, profiting off of men who's wallets are thicker than their skulls (which is hard to achieve).
Remember the old saying "do as I say, not as I do" while you read these little tidbits of my life. I've tried everything, I condone nothing, yada yada yada. Now with that being said, let's go back to the beginning of it all:
I was 17 years old, freshly involved with a 25yr old car salesman who made more money than I'd ever seen in my life. The whole reason we got together was because my close friends bet me he would never go for a girl my age, and like the cocky little shit I was, I took that as a challenge. While our relationship was morally wrong, it was veryyy mutually beneficial. I came from a poor/homeless trailer trash family, and had gotten used to the cheaper things in life. Enter Mitch (not his real name of course). With him, anything I so much as looked at was mine. He took me to steak dinners, paid for romantic vacations, even bought expensive outfits custom-made to my exact proportions. Needless to say, this broke bitch was in HEAVEN. I'll never forget the day I saw my dream car on Instagram and told him, "I've wanted a Mazda Miata MX5 for years now", as casually as could be. Flash forward 3 days, I haven't seen him at all which was super unlike us. I get a phone call from Mitch telling me to come out to my front lawn, and lo and behold: THERE'S MITCH SITTING IN A MAZDA MIATA MX5!!
I couldn't even breathe. He handed me the keys and told me he'd driven 16 hours to pick it up, just to surprise me. As greedy as it sounds, my first thought wasn't "my boyfriend is so sweet", it was "I can't believe I'm hot enough to have men buying me cars!". Sociopathic, I know. Over the next week he spoiled me with hot pink leopard print seat covers, bedazzled steering wheel cover, pink fuzzy dice, THE WORKS. I was hell on wheels, turning heads everywhere I drove. That feeling of being the center of attention just for flirting with the right guy was intoxicating, but it didn't stop there. Mitch was wealthy and cute to boot, but obviously not the most standup guy. I mean, who seriously dates a 17 year old at a whopping 25? It wasn't long before he introduced me to the world of hard drugs. I had been smoking and drinking for a while at that point, but it wasn't until Mitch was footing the bill that I really started branching out. First it was molly (mdma if you're science-y), at raves and local clubs that I shouldn't have even been in. The rush of serotonin and positive endorphins I got hit with during my first my first come up convinced me I was in love. As a majorly depressive kid, I had never felt "true happiness" like that in my life. Under the club lights, everyone was beautiful, music sounded like it was made just for me, and Mitch's strong arms felt like home. "Home" was a dangerous thing for a girl like me to find in an older man. If you've ever taken molly, you know one thing it'll do is make you is hornier than a motherfucker, so of course that more than enough incentive for Mitch to keep providing it, completely "forgetting" to mention you shouldn't take it more than once in a 3 month period at minimum. So there we were, 2 times a week, rolling deep in the club. I was taking 5 points at a time, destroying my body's ability to produce serotonin on it's own. So when club season ended, I was left more depressed than I'd ever been, with a completely shot libido.
That's when he introduced me to ketamine, buying it by the 8ball (3.5 grams for those unfamiliar). Ketamine completely disconnects you from reality, leaving you in a semi-lucid trance that feels almost like being drunk and then taking mushrooms. It was no molly, but it was something to keep me happy and distracted. Picture me on his couch, shoveling it into my nose a teaspoon at a time (insane behavior, I know). One night in particular, after putting myself in what the kids call a "k-hole" I was laying on his chest and it felt like our two bodies were melting into each other, becoming one. It scared the ever-living SHIT out of me, I was mortified of being "stuck with him for life" which lead me to the conclusion that I might not love him as much as I thought I did. While I was throwing up ketamine in his bathroom, I decided we may need to break up. I came over the next day, speech in mind, ready to do the deed. What I didn't know was that after I left the night before, he had gone out to purchase an 8ball of the drug that would keep me glued to him for the next 5 months, cocaine.
Me and cocaine were best friends instantly, and I never had to know the pricetag. He bought me 8ball after 8ball, sending me home with it completely unattended. I didn't go 30 minutes without powdering my nose for months at a time. I had become the party girl stereotype, bone-thin, coked out, sloppy and sexy. I was totally and utterly hooked. Sadly, coke doesn't make you happy and docile like the drugs before. It made the highs high, and the lows LOW. Now my boyfriend, who I didn't really like much to begin with, was getting on my nerves daily. I once again came to the conclusion that we needed to split, for my own sanity. The sex was shit, he was annoying me, and the blow made me too cocky to think my choices through. I broke up with him in a fury, speeding home in the car he bought, ready to drown my feelings in tequila and cocaine...cocaine he had been paying for. I was about to reap the consequences of my rash decision. He came the next day to take the car back, leaving me crying in my beat up Toyota Camry. It took 2 days for me to blow through (get it?) the bag I'd taken from his house, and I finally had to face the reality I'd created. 17, broke, hooked on blow I couldn't afford.
I tried to cut back to a gram a week, that being all I could afford with my menial paychecks. That went terribly for me, I had no self control and no idea how I was gonna keep up with my habit. That's when I discovered sex work. (Again, DO AS I SAY NOT AS I DO, this was not a legal or wise choice) I started on Reddit, selling topless videos of me smoking cigarettes to fetishists in chatrooms. Business was booming, I knew how to flirt and market myself well, plus my desperation made me quick and eager to accommodate. I found plenty of men in r/cocaine who were willing to indulge my habit in exchange for videos of me partaking while nude. Some even went so far as to call themselves my "snort slaves", a term that excited me in a strange way. I started dipping into other random fetishes: smoking, leather boots, and even videos of myself just being mean to the recipient. Even though I hadn't meant to, over the next few months I became something of a dominatrix, every transaction fueling my addiction. It was easy for me at that time, I made and sold videos on the side after my shifts at work, and I never had to dip into my real paychecks to pay for drugs. Plus, a new fire had been lit in me: I LOVED controlling men. Especially when it got me what I wanted. This began the journey I'd be on for the next 5 years, and am still on today, building my empire by stepping on men like ladder rungs. Next I'll spill the deets on how I became a camgirl, don't miss it ;)
XOXO, Gia
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