Working in the Sex Trade

I was raised in a good family of strict Catholics. But I was lured into a life of exotic dancing, then nude performances with sex games and eventually full-scale prostitution. From the age of seven, I suffered from severe depression and was often suicidal. I was also studious, and eventually earned my master's degree and doctorate. For many years I lived a double life. Eventually, I pulled myself out of the business and dealt with my depression, but not without scars. My tale is neither cautionary nor prurient; rather it serves to shed light on the complexity of human existence.

After a brutal rape, I moved to New York City and fell into an obsessive love affair. When I was inevitably rejected (due to my mood swings), I was torn apart with searing pain.

When I saw my ex one day, hand-in-in hand with a new paramour, I cut my wrists. I tried group therapy, but the other depressed people depressed me more. I scrounged up $250, and boarded a plane to L.A., still a mess.

When I ran out of money, I found some work cold calling. This short-lived stint changed the course of my life for many years to come.

First Step into the Sex Trade -- Mudwrestling

She called herself the “Golden Cat,” and she was a hot wrestler who I met on the job. Within a couple of weeks Cat set me up with a new career – mudwrestling.

It was a horrendous gig; I worked in a club with a bunch of tough-assed chicks who saw life through a haze of crystal meth and cocaine. Cat sold me her used outfits, and I debuted as Renada from Granada in a moth-eaten Carmen Miranda costume. I’d walk down the runway, stripping down to a bikini.

I made enough money to get by, but the chicks didn’t like me much; I had to fend off threats of beatings on a nightly basis. Cat’s friend Alex, a brain damaged wrestler with a metal plate inside his head, took me under his muscled wing and I learned how to fight. Soon I left the mud.

Next Step toward the Sex Trade -- Erotic Wrestling

I found work for a singing telegram company and I met a producer of erotic female wrestling videos. The producer made me his “star” wrestler when I fought fiercely and ended by face sitting on my opponent to humiliate her.

For the telegram business, I tap danced dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, accompanied by a rubber duck. But the times were a-changing, and telegrams didn’t cut it anymore.

One night, after an unappreciated performance, I saw one of L.A.’s most sought-after strippers. Her floor show on an animal print rug tantalized the crowd. Then, after having stripped totally naked, she played party games.

Her chaperone, a gay stripper named Dash, surreptitiously took me aside. He told me to start taking my clothes off. I’ll never forget his words: “You have power in your p*ssy; think of it as a cash machine.”

To try it, I went back out and did my routine. As I stripped naked for the first time, I noticed the power it had over men. In shedding Catholic morals as well as clothes, I learned how be seductive and get lots of money. I became “Monique,” exotic dancer from France.

I had a set of friends who never knew what I did or where I went on Saturday nights. Enrolled in college while trying to break into journalism, I worked at CNN, wrote several stories for the BBC, and aired radio reports on a Santa Monica Station.

Cocaine fueled my stripping career; I needed to be high at night, and in the morning, I did a couple of lines to get up. I did not engage in sex for money until many years down the road, when I was back in New York pursuing a PhD, needing an income, too old to strip but still young enough to hook.

Descent into the Sex Trade and Suicide

When I placed an ad in a local paper to wrestle, an agent called me. I ended up doing outcalls, and then selecting about four regulars. One I actually thought I was falling in love with. Thus, the hooker, was yet again, hooked.

I wanted it to end. I methodically planned suicide. When I landed in hospital on suicide watch I had to finally decide whether I wanted to live or die.

I chose life, and began anew. I got out of the sex business. Through deep analysis and medication, I began to integrate differing personalities cohesively. I had to learn how to be me. This is ongoing in my life. I can easily slip into depression if I do not treat my condition with care.

I am now a college professor, PhD, writer, Latin dancer, and while my life is not perfect, I am rarely depressed anymore.