The first time I sold sex for money was kind of accidental. My mother and I had just moved to a new apartment in a not-so-good part of town. The apartment was terrible, a three story tenement house of which the top two floors had been condemned due to leaks and rot. The first floor apartment smelled bad and it was cold and drafty all the time. Most of the electrical fixtures didn't work, and for heat we literally had to crank up the burners on our gas stove.
My mother was a mess, the divorce from my dad had sent her into a drug and alcohol spiral and she mostly sat in her room all day, wrapped in blankets, watching television and killing herself with vodka and pills. My dad paid our bills, such as they were, and sent me about $400 a month for child support until I turned 18, then the checks stopped.
I was also adrift. Moving, even the short distance we did, meant I lost all my friends. None of them wanted to risk visiting me in a bad part of town, and where they lived was difficult to get to without transportation, which I couldn't really afford. Besides, they all had money, and did things that cost money, and I didn't.
I got a job, eventually, at a fast food hamburger place about a mile from our crappy apartment. It came with a stupid uniform and everything. About four times a week I'd walk to the restaurant for a 4pm to 1am shift. Then, in the early morning, I'd walk home in the cold, through the worst section of town, keeping my head down and hoping I wouldn't be mugged or raped or worse.
One day the restaurant closed early, due to a major snowstorm. Business crawled to a stop and the manager made the rare decision to send us all home early. I was both relieved and anxious about his decision. Relieved because the storm was getting worse and I didn't really want to walk home at 1am in a blizzard, but anxious because the minimum wage job already barely paid me enough to live, and I wasn't going to make up these lost hours, ever.
Bundled as best I could, I stepped out into the cold and driving snow, and made my way home.
I walked into the wind, cold and wet and miserable. A snowplow trundled by and splashed me with slush. At one point I slipped and twisted my ankle. It may have been the lowest point of my life, in some ways.
A car pulled alongside me. This happens sometimes, even in nice weather, some guy seeing a girl alone offering her a "ride." I always turned them down. When I refused the ride I was catcalled, or told to fuck myself, or whatever. But the idea of getting into a strange man's car seemed insane to me, an invitation to be murdered.
But tonight...
"Need a ride?" called a voice.
"Yes," I said. "Please?"
I got into the car and felt the warmth of the car's heater. "Thank you," I said.
The man was an older white guy in his fifties, gray at his temples with a happy demeanor but a sadness in his eyes. I pulled back my hood and unzipped my jacket a little. Despite my blond hair and blue eyes I must have looked like a wreck.
"You were not prepared for this weather," he said. "You must be freezing. You a working girl?"
"Burger King," I said, not understanding what he meant by the term "working girl."
He laughed. I told him where I lived and he brought me to the apartment. He pulled into the driveway.
"Are we doing this right here or should I come inside?" he asked.
