Comments by StarLight69

http://posting.asheville.backpage.com/online/classifieds/ViewAd.html/avl/asheville.backpage.com/?oid=33009512&uid=89f9aeff7409db2195cd74d1d75c59b3

Whatever

So, I like giving blowjobs but have never been a "swallower." Something about the consistency of it really grosses me out, and I can't seem to get it down. Well, one night (by some streak of luck) I ended up making out with the hottest guy from the strip club. Things were getting hot and heavy, and he went down on me (OMG). I returned the favor because I'm a good person, and when he finished I was determined to swallow. My. Throat. Wouldn't. Get. It. Down. I ended up just spitting it back onto him. He looked super confused and grossed out...I just threw my clothes on and went back to the main floor.

I was giving head to a guy that I really liked during the first time we hooked up. He was pretty big, but, like I said, I was super into him so I wanted to show him a great time. I have a bad gag reflex, so about every other time I went down I was choking. I just closed my eyes and tried to relax because there was no way I was giving up. The guy, just as I'd hoped, was really enjoying it and starting pushing my head down gently and making all kinds of noises. Apparently, my will to succeed backfired on me because I gagged so much that THREW UP on him. Then he was so grossed out that he threw up. Let's just say I blew that chance (pun intended).

I am soon bobbing my head up and down on his cock like its the most natural thing in the world. The strangeness of giving another guy a blow job soon disappears as I take him deeper into my mouth and I start to enjoy it. With my free hand, I caress his legs and thighs, occasionally cupping his balls. After a few minutes I feel his hands on my head, showing me what to do, telling me to speed up or slow down as I look up into his eyes and see his wonderful smile.

I want, once and for all, for men to know that women in the sex industry have been abused by men just like you. Rape and incest are the recruiters for the sex industry, and you are victimizing her just as her rapist did. She hates you and she hates all that you represent. She smiles because she must smile, she dances because she knows no other way, but she despises you and others like you.

Men who buy and look at pornography are exactly the same. These are also men who feed off of power and degradation the way a tick feeds off blood. They are parasites and they are incapable of finding any worth within themselves, therefore, they steal it from women

I've heard sob stories about their horrible wives and families, and how the bitch stopped putting out as soon as he put a ring on their finger. I've heard all the stories, all the lies and all the bullshit. I've had men call me the most vile things imaginable and I've had them pay me to do the sort of degrading things I can't even talk about.

The life of a stripper is a life of sexual harassment. Men grope at you constantly, trying to put their fingers inside of you when you walk past. You are called names, and told to “Bring that cunt over here you little whore”. And you do. You bring it over there because you've told yourself that you are powerful when you do so. That's yet another way to control the anger and the humiliation. You wrap it in empowerment, telling yourself that you're the one who’s really coming out on top. You tell yourself that you're the winner because that nasty fucker gave you every bill in his wallet, but deep down inside you know what's really going on and you continue to medicate

We starve ourselves and abuse ourselves, and let you abuse us because we believe we deserve it. Other times we dull the pain, using alcohol and downers to rid ourselves of the anger, to crush it and keep it in check. Be assured that the stripper you see hates you. She drowns her hatred in alcohol, or burns it in a cloud of pot smoke, but she’s still angry.

t. The degradation and terror that is always there is just another part of the job. The hands, the greasy, disgusting hands, were always there, groping at you while the eyes were staring at you. men telling me what “nice tits” I had, or how they’d like to “bang that pussy”. disgusting your teeth are, how horrible your breath is, what a stupid shirt you're wearing and how we'd like to run a cheese grater over your smug face, we're smiling and looking at you through submissive eyes as we robotically rub our bodies over yours. But that anger has to go somewhere doesn't it?

See, here's the deal: just as the men who come to the bar have to be completely devoid of empathy for the women they're buying, the women also have to be completely devoid of empathy for the men who are buying them. It's a survival thing, and besides, how can we like you when you're paying to own us? No, oftentimes women will think and fantasize about smashing your head in with a baseball bat while they gyrate in your lap. But of course, we can't really do that can we? For whatever reason, we must allow ourselves to be bought and sold for the erections that men get over the power associated with owning a human being.

I was underage when I was enmeshed in this life; I had just gotten a car and I was barely 17 years old. I can remember, very vividly, the first night I stripped. I was terrified. That first night was at a small club that was pretty strict with its nudity policy, and all I had to do was wear lingerie and then try to sell it and garters. Easy...right?