The Diary of a Prostitute

I am a prostitute. Description of prostitution is not an endorsement of such a lifestyle or any other immoral behaviour


October 10th, 2010

Today the invisible heavenly list of ‘People’s names’ has become shorter by one. And that is my name. Today I became a prostitute. Now I no longer live in a flat and I have no home. Now I live at the ‘Office’, and I’m managed not by a director, but a pimp, who is officially called ‘authority’; my work schedule is 24/7. I’m meeting with the boss in the evening.



January 18th, 2011

Under seventy years old ‘grandpa’ came today. I said: ‘Give me the money first’. The room is naturally in semi-darkness. Grandpa pulls out a bundle of money from his pocket and gives it to me. I was shoked. Seized it and ran to the kitchen. Shocked again - all notes of 5 pounds. Old guy is retired and probably was saving money secretly from his wife. Saved enough and came to me. I felt so sorry for him. Gave the money to the girls to count and went into the bedroom. Well, of course, he knew he’d save money for vacation not soon, so that he forgot about the age. I was afraid he would die right on me because of a heart attack. 



January 22nd, 2011

A year ago, a very drunk guy came to me (looking back I can say I didn’t sleep with him). He gave me a lot of money. We were drinking and talking, and he began moaning about his brother who was jailed in Thailand. He was sitting in front of me crying, and telling me how much his brother was suffering there, how awful conditions were, how sick and thin the man became. ‘Can you imagine how terrible prisons are in Thailand?!’ The guy took a photo from the pocket where a fat man and him were standing side by side and asked: ‘Recognize him?’ I had no idea who this man was. I said ‘No’. ‘Oh, c’mon, didn’t you hear anything about him in news?  This is N.!’ I was ashamed I didn’t watch news much and I started mumbling ‘Mm, yeah, I think I’m remembering…’ Then the guy started to show me a news report on his mobile phone where that fat man was very thin – he was extradited to the US, accused of having connections with terrorists and selling weapons, and prisoned for 25 years. Whilst we were chatting (I should say the guy was really pleasant by the way) my guest didn’t mention the reason of the punishment once- he was only talking about the horrible conditions in prison. 

Now I know who his brother was. And my client was a successful aviation businessman.



January 28th, 2011

Recently I was a guest of the sausage king. That is, he owns sausage factories, sausage shops and, of course, he looks like a sausage. 

We drank and started to eat sausages (well, what else would we eat?!). He began telling me what kind of sausages were made of good quality and fresh meat and which ones I should not buy, and also, that his fridge was full of sausages. ‘Do you want to take it with you? I can give you a dozen of sausages!’ – he was shouting at me singing karaoke at the same time. 

In the morning I woke up before him and booked a taxi, and decided to look into the fridge – there was so much meat stuff that would be enough for years.

I remembered that on the previos nighthe offered me one hundred sticks of sausage so I decided to take one just for fun. Taxi arrived and I started waking the guy up to say goodbye. I thought I was offered to help myself last night but still felt like I was stealing from this man. I decided to ask him and thought he would say ‘Sure! Take as much as you can!’ and I would smile and say ‘Actually I’ve already taken one. Thank you so much! Bye!’; so I said ‘I’m leaving. Can I take one sausage? I’ll take it just for fun and give to my girls for lunch’. The king opened his hungover eyes and said ‘Hun, I would give you all my meat, but I don’t have anything! I’m like a cobbler’s kid who has no shoes’. 

So I went with the stolen sausage. 



January 30th, 2011

I frequantly have to meet with married couples. Half of these couples, of course, are fictitious so a ‘wife’ is also a prostitute. But there are a lot of real married  couples. And they don’t always need just lesbian sex with the wife, and ‘ordinary’ sex with husband. Now nother variations are popular: me, his wife and a strap-on; or me, him and a strap-on, for example. Sometimes transsexuals are involved. And couples do all that stuff watching each other.

I mean, I do not blame them. However, I will never get it. How can you watch your lover having sex with someone else so easily? For the same reason I do not understand swingers. I know that a lot of people cheat but I’d prefer not to know, if somebody is cheating on me. 



January 31st, 2011

Today Sandra was my guest. Originally, it was Steve. I made up Steve’s face, dressed him up, and Sandra turned out. Overmodest, she was sitting on the bed’s edge: ‘Let’s pretend like we met at the bar, you came to me and tried to pick me up; I was so shy because I’ve never tried it with girls before’.

After all, we went to the hotel and I turned her into her a lesbian. After that Sandra ran to the shower, and Steve came out: ‘I just wanted to try. You know, this is not for me. Don’t think I’m a fag or something…’

9 of 10 Sandras-Steves say that after sex. Wild sexual desire ends and they begin to feel ashamed and disgusted. However, it passes eventually, and ‘Sandras’ who are more experienced are ready to stay in the motel till morning. 

Such men are not uncommon. I’ve written that some men also bring their wifes. There are a lot of options of ‘having fun’, they are either gays or unaccomplished transgenders. But they can’t confess even to themselves. That’s why they don’t sleep with men, and such kind of amusement with girls started to be a ‘hobby’. Sex with the wife becomes a rarity for them and a wife becomes like a cancer tumour. So they are hiding from themselves until the end of their days, because of the public opinion, education and all other shit that doesn’t allow a person to be happy and to be himself. Why does he and his wife suffer so much? Just to correspond to some generally accepted standards? It’s bulshit, not life.

Be who you are. 

I think sexual addictions, perversions and so on are a personal matter. Everyone has the right to decide ‘how, with whom, where and how many times’. No one should meddle in other people’s private life till that private lifes as long as that private life doesn’t disturb other citizens’ rights. 



May 11th, 2011

One of my colleagues made silicone lips. I am actually rather glad of that. Half of her clients will be mine. I cant’t believe there are still so many twats who change their lips, boobs, hairs and nails thinking they look like glamour beauties.  Unfortunately, these bimbos look nothing but pathetic, thinking they shouldn’t smile and seem natural and happy…because of the wrinkles?

There are some niceties: languishing and looking for men with expensive cars, arrogant one is for muggles; in photos lips should be half-opened and stuck up. I can see such chicks from a mile away; they dream to live in the West End, but fall asleep again and again somewhere in outskirt hotels, because there are less and less assholes who are attracted by them. 

Intelligence and naturalness – that’s what is in demand nowadays. First one could be changed somehow, but silicone can’t be squeezed out. Well, I know how it works: you are ugly, poor and self-conscious, plus you don’t have brains, but wanna be married. Then you go to have silicone lips instead of gifted ones and start to think that now you are pretty. However, there is still no husband, and you think that silicone wasn’t enough and pump even more silicone into your lips. So now silicone lips look like a cow’s anus. That’s clear. What I really can’t understand is why pretty, clever and popular woman do this shit.



May 16th, 2011

Six o’clock in the morning. All clubs are closed. Some of respectable citizens are walking around with their dogs and others are sleeping. Partygoers dispersed and went home. But for junkies the party is just starting. There are some dens full of people with wide eyes where you feel at home. You don’t have to hide in the corners and can ask any stranger ‘Is there anything?’, and after a few drug lines snorted in the loo you are already the closest soulmates in the world. 

Sometimes musclemen in black masks scare you: they burst into the place with dogs suddenly, tie up a few profiteers, and disappear just as quickly as they appear. Young teens usually are left. Profeeters come back in a few hours, and nobody is surprised. 

Later a rumour reached me – some of my friends drank too much buterat and croaked. I go searching for them, but somebody got there, and that stupid cunt was already taken by emergency. Lucky me. Those who don’t have close friends or whose friends simply don’t give a damn, are stopped by bouncers (you are not allowed to kick the bucket inside the club!). If you don’t smash your skull on the pavement in convulsions or just die quietly , there could be a chance to be rescued by a passerby. 

Six o’clock in the evening. Junkies crawl away. Party is over. They will not eat and sleep for a couple of days. 

This is payback for a few hours of artificial ‘happiness’.



May 17th, 2011

It was an sms delivered on my work number: ‘A., good afternoon! Maybe you should contact the job center in the community; sometimes they have interesting offers’. 



May 19th, 2011

Since I always demand maximum for money I pay I expect the same attitude of myself. 

Recently one man came to me and asked with an arrogant tone of voice: ‘At what point does your time count – once  I come out from the shower or when I lie on the bed?’ I hope you don’t mind if I mark the time on my watch’.

I swore to him I was not going to cheat him out of a minute. 

He was done with the shower: ‘This towel doesn’t smell fresh. Can I get another one?’

I went, stood in the other room for a minute, came back with the same towel, and said it was a new one. He didn’t notice the difference.

Then the guy stared at the bed confused: ‘Do you change your bed sheets after each client?’ 

I thought It would be better to give him his money back.

After we finished I jumped up with relief thinking about the shower. ‘Make tea for me! …without sugar’. I went to the kitchen, made tea, put a cup on the saucer.

‘Don’t you have normal one? Only teabags?’. After tea time he asked how much time was left. “8 minutes? Do me a massage. I hope you have massage oil?’

My goooooodness!

After the massage (with lubricant) I helped him to dress (on my own initiative), said good bye, and went to the kitchen for tea. Breathed out finally.

In the kitchen one of my colleagues (who had silicone lips done recently) was telling girls how she got a lot of money from her client. A few seconds later the 500 euro banknote in her hand turned out to be a fake one. There was a big stamp ‘Bank of jokes’ across the back side of it. 

I told you, silicone bimbos are knob heads. Fake lips – fake money.



May 24th, 2011

All myths about prostitutes are generated by human folly. Stupid minds take everything the mass media gives them at face value. 

1.    Prostitute’s ID is not taken away and she is not chained to the radiator with handcuffs. (It was in the 90s and, probably, now, but somewhere in the saburbs of Mexico). Any prostitute can leave at any time. Why she didn’t do it – that’s not the pimp’s problem, but hers. 

2.    A prostitute is able to read, to write and even knows that the Earth is round. Uneducated ones are endangered species. Nowadays a prostitute has to have good language skilled and should be able to talk about the new opera in The Queen’s Theatre (there are 8 girls living in my place: 6 of them have a degree, another one will get it in a year; the last one has a cow anus instead of the lips – she doesn’t give a damn). 

3.    You will never identify a good looking prostitute, otherwise she will tell you by herself. We are among you! (devilish giggling).

4.    Tales about gravely ill or dying relatives as a cause for a girl to become a prostitute are bullshit as are sob stories about her hard life. Compassionate customers are fed these stories to get extra tips. Those who don’t want to work, but have fun and substantial life become slags. 



May 25th, 2011

Today I met a group of school-leavers (now they feel gown up! Ha-ha!): such pretty dresses, young smiling faces. 

Came back home, looked at girls – they have been school-leavers too, dancing at the party in colorful dresses. I remember I was so happy that day because I was pretty sure about my future – it was gonna be bright. 



May 26th, 2011

A year ago I was working for a pimp; I still can’t understand what we, fools, were giving him half of our money for.

One day a new 20 years old girl arrived at work with us from a faraway small town (perhaps, she wanted Martini and a beautiful life). On the same day she was sent to her first client. The pimp decided to ensure himself against the girl runing away with money and sent me to look after her.

We arrived at the client’s, and I stayed in a car to wait for the money she was supposed to take first and bring to me. She didn’t come after 10 minutes; then 20 minutes passed. I called her:

-    Where are you?

-    Off you go, I’ll bring the money to the ‘office’.

-    Are you crazy?  Get down with the money! Now!

-    This client told you to go away; he will give me my money later.

-    Give the phone to the client.

-    Hello! – it was a drunk man’s voice.

-    Hi! I’m that girl’s friend. Could you, please, give her the money upfront so that you two don’t have to be worried and have a good time?

-    No prob, hun! Come upstairs!

I didn’t know the floor but remembered the flat’s number, so I thought it might be 9th floor, perhaps. A dark corridor, doors were not numbered. While I was waiting for a guy to open the door my phone rang.

-    Yes?

-    Run away quickly! He came out to meet you with a gun. He doesn’t want to give me the money and will not let me go. I couldn’t tell you that in front of him.

-    Which floor are you on?

-    7th.

Shit! Two floors down some bastard is standing with a gun and waiting for me. How do I escape?

I found some outdoor steps, took my heels off and started to sneak slowly thinking if that guy would hear me I’m dead. When I was reaching the 7th floor I really began to worry about peeing my pants. After I passed by the 7th floor was passed by I ran down like mad. In the cab I shouted at the driver: ‘Hurry up! Now!’; he realized I was in a panic and decided to charge double price. I didn’t care. I was alive!

Once back, I told the pimp everything, but he was always showing off. In fact he was nothing and couldn’t help the girl. 

The next morning she came back and said that that piece of shit was raping her all the night threatening with a gun. 

The pimp told her: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you money to have some tests tomorrow’. 

On the next day she went back to her small town. She no longer wanted a beautiful life. The pimp was pissed off she owed him money for two days of staying in the place. Unbelievable. Thank God he is wanted now.



May 30th, 2011

I was asked to tell you how I became a prostitute and who was my first client was. First, I’ll tell about my first time. 

What was that day for me? Well, it was a very usual day actually. I was going to the client and I didn’t feel any anxiety. There was no remorse or feeling that I was crossing some fatal line. And there was only one thing I was worried about – why I didn’t I feel bad about that? I was thinking: ‘Why is it so? I’m going to sell myself for money! And I don’t care…’. 

I can’t even remember that first client. It was easy and quick like I had been doing this all my life. On my way back I was thinking: “That’s it. It means I’m shameless. Ok, I’ll sleep easy’.

However, it turned out very differently: it’s so easy to come down and incredibly hard to live like this; and much more difficult to get out from this shit. 



May 31st, 2011

I was born in a small town with a population of a few thousand people. I graduated from high school with good grades (that the majority of prostitutes are at least minimally educated. A lot of people think a prostitute is brought to the brothel right from the maternity hospital and she is not able to write and to read). 

After school I entered Law Academy in the nearest big city, and after I graduated I had to come back to my home town because I didn’t have enough money to rent a place there, and I found a job as a court clerk. I was earning some money plus my mum was working in the nursery school (I was growing up without a father), and it was enough. However, at that time I was confident and had a pretty face, so I was thinking I deserved more than to be married to one of the local rednecks or to get pregnant by a chav. 

I didn’t become a princess, but a courtesan finally.

It happened during my business trip to a big city where I finished my University. One of the judges was invited by the Qualification Board, and took me with her. That night I went out to the club just for a drink where a man came to me and asked me straight way if I’d like to go to the capital to work as a prostitute. Such a nice question to a worker of the judicial system, huh?

I didn’t come back to my home town. I lied to my mother I was offered a job as a lawyer, and on the next day I was sitting on the train on my way to the capital. That’s it. There are no weepy tales about dying relatives or my own terminal illness. I just didn’t want to work for ‘fair-enough-salary’ or to hear anything about career progression. I wanted to live here and now. I wanted my mum to go on holidays abroad or to have a new LCD at least. I dreamt that I would have a fantastic and stunningly bright and fascinating life in the big city. However, as soon as I arrived one disappointment happened after another. And as you can see I’m stuck because money and laziness are still determinant.



May 31st, 2011

I just found out that one of my friends from the ‘office’ opened her own cab bureau. I am shocked and jealous. I started to save money from today. 



June 15th, 2011

I’m asked frequently ‘Does a prostitute enjoy sex?’

Sometimes there is no desire even with you husband or lover because of the different reasons: fatigue, bad mood and so on. Are you able to enjoy sex even if you overcome this? Yes, but not necessarily. What if he asks about sex an hour later? Five times after? You will not enjoy it all the time. 

Therefore, as you can see there couldn’t be any pleasure talking about having sex a lot of times with the man you don’t love. In addition, think about different men who have different looks, smells, and preferences.

Sex becomes not the desire of two soul mates, flying in the sky and enjoying, but a physical process.

In the beginning, I could enjoy it with handsome, skilled, or muscular men and sometimes had orgasms, but later it disappeared. Sex and clients caused more and more disgust. Later alcohol and drugs made it easier just for a short time; but after all, it became an addiction problem in addition. So finally I started to have sex by autopilot, when during the process you think ‘Hm, did I buy milk yesterday?’ or ‘Shit, I forgot to get my coat from the dry-cleaners’. 

Sometimes I can enjoy sex out of work, but not very often. A smile, situation or a birthmark can turn me on spontaneously. 

P.S. My ideal man is Patrick Wilson. He is sexy, intelligent and tender at the same time. I would learn how to fly again with that kind of a man. 



June 30th, 2011

I’ve already written about the myths of prostitution, so now it’s time to tell terrible secrets. 

1.    A prostitute is never free on average, there are 2-3 clients daily; each client demands 30 minutes approximately. 

2.    A prostitute is a nymph who likes sex so much that she decided to earn money out of it. In addition, they have a really low threshold of fastidiousness. 

3.    There are no x-prostitutes.



September 17th, 2011

My forever-and-ever best friend was discharged from hospital today. It’s better to say – a girlfriend. A year ago, he had a sex-change. He now deals with socially unadjusted, difficulties in communication with parents, relatives and friends, and the public contempt. People think they have the right to tell others how to live their lifes or they feel that someone has no right to live at all. And those who believe in God, desperately argue that it is a sin, forgetting the words of their favourite scripture: ‘Do not Judge and You will not be judged.»



November 27th, 2011

I was so depressed after I watched Trier’s ‘Melancholy’. If tomorrow our planet meets some other space object, it will be invisible to anyone in the enormous scale of the Universe, and nobody will notice the existence of our civilisation. Why are we here?..

I’m sorry for such a cliché but life is so short, and people waste it killing each other and living in anger. 

While I was depressed I was not working. I spent everything I saved before. How to leave this shit again?.. I was ready to quit. 



December 2nd, 2011

A year ago, I broke up from my love. We met each other in a nightclub. Some ‘well-wishers’ told him I was a prostitute, but he did not care. He fell in love. Moreover, it was mutually. He took me from the ‘office’, and we began to live together. He forbid anyone to talk about my past. It lasted for one year. We were dreaming to grow old together, falling asleep on the same pillow. I was happy every second, and falling in love more and more.

One day suddenly he changed. Like somebody stole my man and put another one, fake one with the similar face only. I was shocked. I was crying in the bathroom and listening to insults. I was told I didn’t wash the dishes, I didn’t tidy up, I didn’t allow him to meet his friends, but it was not true! I started to work and I was doing everything I could to be together. Any arguments caused more anger. Finally, he told me that I was a slut and I would die as a slut. 

He took all my stuff and brought me back to the ‘office’.

Later, I knew it happened because of my ‘best’ friend – they were together. I was trying to call her to ask a simple question ‘How could it happen?’; she picked up the phone and just told me to go to hell.

People around gloated over my unsuccessful attempt to become a Cinderella. 

The only person who was there for me was my trans friend. He was holding me tightly promising everything will be all right. We went through all that shit together. 

After all, I realised one thing: love is the most important thing. If I ever fall in love again, I will not remember this sad story. I will just love. And I’ll be the happiest one in the world. 

I wish everybody the same – the brightest, the most colourful and true love. Be happy. All right, snot is wiped. I am going to bed.