I arrived in New York City from Chelyabinsk, a city right in the middle of Russia, when I was 19 years old, with $300 in my pocket. I turned 24 in March and have managed to save $200,000, by fucking for money. I’ve traveled to Morocco, Paris, Beijing, and Monaco. Men have brought me tea from London, chocolates from Switzerland, lingerie from France and shoes from Italy. I’ve bought my parents a little village house. (I told them I had a rich American boyfriend who was taking care of me.)
I don’t hate men. I am not a victim of child trafficking. I have never been raped, or drugged, or done porn. I’m not an addict. I never had a pimp. I don’t suffer from what my American girlfriends call “daddy issues” and what my shrink refers to as “malformed identity centering on early childhood abandonment.” My dad had lovers. I don’t blame my parents for my job, or my life. Other kids have other problems. My parents had problems when they were kids. My therapist has helped me see that.
- Medium
