Buying a cake with sex money

It’s been really weird lately.  I’ve started to see the benefits of the money i’ve made from escorting.  All my life i’ve been watching my friends with children buy things without a care in the world.  I’ve heard them go on about this benefit and that benefit; they seriously have so much disposable income per month that they actually profit from having a child and only working a minimum number of hours.  There i am working 70 plus hours per week, accessorising the hell out of a wardrobe, to the point of some days choosing just not even bother hahaha, getting naffed off with a crap piece of toast so learning to cope with one meal per day that usually constitutes pasta when i drop through the door at half ten at night.

I’d love to give them the honest reply when they ask me how i seem to keep so slim when they can’t …  i have to actually ‘do’ my supermarket shop and spend time worrying about how to pay for it (let alone be able to afford the food itself) – it doesn’t get delivered to my door.  But of course no one is as tired and as hard done to as them because they have a child, so i keep my mouth closed and just continue loving them as my best buddies in silence instead because that’s just what we do.

But!!!  But the shopping they do – they, my friends, they just go out and buy, there’s no pause, not thought, it’s just: i need so i get… i’ve always yearned for that.  Being single and childless and working full time with a career does not pay off.    The looking at the menu and just choosing what they want because they like the food that they like.  Me, i -choose the food because it will bring the overall bill down that i will inevitably have to pay a shared portion of.  Because they get so much financial help for the child they will go all out, no expenses sparred for them and i’m thinking – jeepers, this child’s bill for one meal is more than what i spend on a week’s shop.  I’m not being mean or judgmental of people claiming benefits at all – this is the reality: in this situation, they ate well and i went home, carried on working my ass off and  lived off tinned celery soup for three days.

Any way – NOT ANY MORE.  For the first time in my life, i spent money on what i needed, as i needed it…without worry.  I’ve busted a gut working five jobs at a time to get a first class honors degree then working as a professional at the top of my game and the only time i’ve ever been able to buy what i need without any worry is when i – SELL MY SELF FOR SEX.  What the hell does that say.  Don’t bother working hard and getting qualified – have a child or be a hooker!!  Yayyyy, of all the lessons i’ve learned, though all of my insightful lectures and thesis writing – THIS IS THE MOST ENLIGHTENING.  *BE*A*HOOKER* and you don’t have to eat celery soup ever again.

Anyway, funny as it may seem, i was sat in the cafe with my little niece and her mummy, my sister.  Surrounded by other mummies with their little ones, grandmas and families all enjoying the nice weather on a little break in the sun.  We were at the seaside, the promenade dotted with little cafes and shops.  I decided to treat my niece and her mummy, lets order cake and tea, sandwiches; whatever we fancy really.  As we sat there with afternoon tea cakes on saucers i couldn’t help but contrast the prettily iced, with a smooth glazed cherry on the top, bun with the task that i had undertaken to pay for it.  I looked round and looked at the mundane mumminess – to me there was nothing yummy mummy about it.  Benefits … they can have, i’d rather have the financial benefits of fucking their bored husbands.  Oh the sweet taste of kama and just deserts; i thought as i plucked that juicy cherry from the cake and felt it pop in my mouth…now that’s how i enjoy making my money.


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