Tuesday, the ageless sex worker

Living in San Francisco is for sure a bubble. One of my favorite things about San Francisco would be the omnipresent sex workers.

It's impossible to not notice them, because they're everywhere! San Francisco really embraces sex workers, even trying to decriminalize it. The recently defeated Proposition K intended to save women from rape, pimps, and drug abuse, by allowing police to work with sex workers instead of against them. Sex workers will never go away. On a more philosophical level, housewives are sex workers too. They exchange sex with a man for money, a place to live, and protection, so who really is the bigger whore? The woman who works for herself, or the one who's bound to a man, day after day? Some are obvious, while most are a lot more clandestine, and there's a huge spectrum. Some make a good living, and promote their "services" under the guise of being a massage therapist. They come in all genders, ages, shapes, and sizes.

I notice a lot of times, a poor looking, out of shape crack whore being closely followed by her pimp. What most people don't realize, is that the (tranny) street walkers of the night are replaced in the day time by desperate women who really blend in- which is to say they are never dressed sexy, and usually wear shapeless sweats instead. I guess if you're fucking a whore, what that bitch is wearing doesn't really matter, since it's about to come off anyways.

Anyways, what I'm trying to assert is that, just by living in San Francisco, one can continually observe sex workers just from seeing them on the street. Since some do stand out, it's easy to estimate how old and how worked over they are. Also, whether they're on drugs or not, and which ones. One of the sex workers I noticed many years ago is Tuesday.

I've never spoken to him personally, but he's impossible to miss. A while ago, my boyfriend at the time had close friends living in the tenderloin, and they found out his name, then told me. I guess I'm writing about him now, because it had been about a year or two since I'd seen him, and I'd just assumed that he'd died, had been killed by a pimp, was being kept somewhere as a sex slave, or (blindly optimistic) that he had left the business to pursue a normal life.

To give a physical descrition- shorter than me, bleached blonde hair, really skinny, wears platform shoes a lot, cute boyish face, diminutive, usually wears flared jeans, somewhat preppy style. One night, I was tripping on LSD and waiting for the bus, and caught myself talking about him, right in front of his face. I guess that was the time I lost the chance to ever approach him, cause I am captivated by sex workers. I'm sure he heard me talking shit. It must have been 4 or 5 in the morning.

-> More than anything, I am amazed at this young man's ability to stay forever young. He looks exactly the same now as when I first saw him, which must have been in 2003. I've seen him before being picked up/dropped off at the hotel he stays at, I forget what it's called, but next time I'm in the area I'm going to make a mental note. I often assume he's getting gang banged inside for tweak. He's skinny, so it makes me think his drug of choice is either crack or speed. Nothing makes more money than a fresh faced, young looking sex worker.