Is that it? Of course that isn’t it, expect more from me, always. A good memory is sometimes a blessing, and at other times a curse. There are some memories that I wish I could just erase, wipe clean from my mind. Some are filled with regret and sorrow now; others were just so beautifully blissful that they are painful to remember. I will never forget my first day as a working girl; I had been hooking on the streets for about a year prior, however, this was my first day working in a whore-house. Glamorous, I know. I can recall the sick feeling in my stomach as ‘Sid’ applied the overdone makeup that would be my costume for the next few months. The all too familiar feeling of a man I didn’t love, or even know thrusting his hips as I lay below him, waiting for it to be over. The way the back of my head felt, pressed into the musty pillows. I was eighteen and barely legal, really just a child; and this was no place for a child at all. When I was asked in my day to day life, I was a freelance writer for magazines, a student at the nearby university, a secretary at some no-name business. I was living a lie, careful to cover my tracks, sneaking around behind their backs. A hand job at your home, while your wife works in the other room. My tongue between your legs, even though I’m not attracted to girls. This is what I’ve become. A quickie after your children fall asleep. Lost in their dreams. While I’m lost in this nightmare, not three feet away. I had given up on all the morals I once had, the child seats in cars and strollers in garages, blurred by how badly I wanted that next fix. I prayed to God for forgiveness, but even as I mumbled the words I doubted, that God would forgive me for committing such acts. But if it wasn’t me it would be Susan down the street, and she had a real life to ruin; two kids, a husband. Better it me than her, ruin me instead.