(Following is adapted from my book "My Life In The Great Sexual Window")

You should understand that professional whoring isn’t real sex.

There’s something out-of-body, distant, uninvolved, about it. Men pay you good money to make them feel great. It’s a simple business transaction on each side, supply and demand. Very capitalistic. Keeps the economy moving.

And it turns out that whoring is something I’m very good at. Up to now, I’m just a world-class amateur — now I’m becoming a world-class professional.

One of the best things about whoring is that there’s no emotion involved, nothing that tangles the belly and cuts into the heart. Nothing that makes a girl yearn for that commitment, that kiss, sometimes even that one phone call which soars her to seventh heaven and occasionally way beyond. No emotion so, voilà, no meaning.

Like any other whore I’ve ever met, I have two lives. One life earns all this money to flash tits and ass, flirt outrageously, and open legs and mouth for any man who wants to put his cock in them. But whoring isn’t real life. It’s not where I live.

It’s the other life, my student life at journalism school, my personal life, that’s my real life. The life where I win and lose, behave well or badly, am happy or sad. The part of my life where there's meaning.

Like any good-looking woman (particularly big-boobed like me) I have my pick of men and can have sex, meaningful or otherwise, with as many men as I want, any time I want. So I do.

Sometimes, when I’m just paying for an evening out or there’s nothing much else to do, the sex is emotionally empty but usually fun anyway. Other times, when I’m in lust with some horny stud, the lust itself is emotional and therefore an entirely sufficient reason for the sex. Then there’s the occasional times when I think I might be in love, at least a little bit, when sex is entirely meaningful.

The occasional thinking I might be in love part, of course, is where the commitment that doesn’t come, the kiss that isn’t tried and the phone call that’s never made reminds me that being hell-on-wheels in bed sometimes just isn’t enough for a girl.

Back to whoring.

Men confuse power with money. I don’t. Men think because they can rent my body that they have power over me. But power and money aren’t the same.

In fact, when a man’s in my mouth or pussy, I have the power. And then when he cums, by wonderful coincidence, I have both the power and the money.