Criminalizing sex work simply drives it underground where it’s defined by organized crime. Not sex workers. We like to think that we as a collective of individuals can construct our own world with rules and responsibilities we make up ourselves.

Organized crime is attracted to exploiting sex work and sex workers not unlike the proverbial moth to the proverbial flame.

Because victims in this culture – writ large – are a dime a dozen. Victimhood is everywhere. It can transecend even class.

I am not here as an advocate of anything. What a major headache that is. Been there. Done that. Nothing much ever seems to change.

I have known tricks to set out to draw the whoreboy into the spider’s web. They get off on power. Not sex. They manipulate the puppet’s strings. And they will take that to the edge of life and death. They feed the kid more and more and more and more and more and more.

They will overdose the kid. There is no remorse whatsoever.

What I do with this is simply a bearing witness. I do not think it changes anything. But bearing witness is all I have. I write about and photograph what I see. At times, such work pulls out a lot of hostility on both sides of the issue. The tricks don’t much like it, and the boy whores are mortified. Nevertheless, I will write about and photograph what I see. There is a price for everything. Whores pay double whatever the going rate defines as quid pro quo.

Fentanyl is the worst. It’s much stronger than mere heroin. Fentanyl can kill you before it addicts you, or it can do both. If you are going to allow a trick to talk you into both fentanyl and meth, you may as well go buy your coffin now.

If you see this shit going down, like at a party, you owe it to yourself – because you are the one who has to live with who you are – to intervene.

Been there, Done that, too. I had a gun. It definitely helped. Tricks do have guns but not as many as we do (it’s war out there). The deeper issue is always, always survival. Lots of whores have guns. I could jack the trick up against the wall. I could grab the boy, and go.

I stand accused of wrecking a lot of parties.

Ask me if I care.

I will attend your sex party if you pay me enough. I’m expensive. But I am going to want to know who is going to be there. I make it very clear that it’s not my job to do whatever a fucking trick wants. Perish that flawed idea. It actually works the other way around. The tricks does what I tell him to do.

Any trick at any party I might attend, has to understand (and they do) that parties are not parties to me, they’re work. And the world of work has rules. My rules. My way.

I will remove any young person from the shindig. Period. No teenage whining. Get the fuck out of here. Now.

Consent depends on your ability to consent. Kids are commonly abused without the drugs, but the ones who are exposed to Big Girl drugs are walking a very taut high-wire act in the middle of a three ring cirus, and they die. Right then and there. They will die. What amazes me (actually, I am so far from being amazed by anything)  is that the remaining party people will complain the party sucked. Death will do that.

I bought a new fucking gun.