Well, it was more or less a very clean, very sophisticated sex sweatshop...keep the customers on the line or on camera as long as possible...I was never a camgirl, to be clear. Seth wanted me to cam, because that's where his real money was made, but I never did do it. I suppose that if he hadn't been raided and shut down, I might have eventually cammed--the money was amazing, and even then I had a near-obsession with exquisite lingerie, and probably wouldn't have minded showing it off. Or taking it off. The only thing that truly weirded me out were the guys who wanted me to describe giving them a footjob (the first time I heard that, had no idea what it was--fortunately, the customer walked [no pun intended] through it.)

Somehow I made the mental disconnect between what the guys I talked to were saying that they wanted to do to/with me (or have me do to/with them) and my actual job. Not that my parents cared--they were wrapped up in themselves at that point--but when I eventually applied to be a veterinary assistant, I just put "customer service/receptionist" under "Previous Work History".

Actually, I don't think that I even ever told my now-ex-husband about my first job...I guess this is the first place I've really given an honest answer.

I use to break dance for quarters.

I threw quarters at a stripper once... Some people make it rain.... Muther fuckers I made it hail...

I'm drunk I'm tired and I'm going to bed

Off books was general gopher work in a pallet mill.
On the books was a dishwasher at a dine .

I ran a paper route from 28 customers up to 148, and handed half to my brother for half the profit - my route, my rules. He was a constant thorn in my side, so it was my first legit opportunity to fuck with him without my mom cuffing the shit out of me. Little brothers usually are the crotch rot of life at home.

First real job was a summer job slinging concrete blocks from pallets to foundation perimeter and on to scaffolding for basement wall masonry on house construction sites for a buck an hour. Damm near killed me surviving the first two weeks.

First full time job was at a metal products company that made cages for biological research facilities amongst other things. I ran a spot welder making - rat ladders for the cages. You had a frame you would slap a long heavy wire rectangle into that was the outside frame. Then, you would grab a handful of cut wire pieces, and slide them across the frame to drop the rungs into the frame pockets. Then, you would foot switch the welder to clamp the upper pad and the lower pad to the wire to weld together 3-4 inches of rungs to frame at a time - do one side, flip it around, do the other. Mind numbing, and after winter was over, so was I.

Next was creating bad art for tourists in Montreal, right down town. I actually had to get a permit for " Artists Painting in Public Places " from the city. Right on McGill College Avenue and Rue De St Catherine - we used the outside wall of the Capital Theater to display our wares. First time I saw BB King was at the Capital. Great old school theater / play house done in art deco Greco Roman theater house turn of the century style - got torn down and replaced with a multiplex. It was a great 1500 seat venue for big names, who liked doing a club type intimate venue rather than doing a big show at the Forum hockey arena. I made pretty good money doing that, and a sideline business in recreational substances, from 1969 to 1973.

Dunns Restaurant was just around the corner, great old school jewish deli. A fucking huge smoked meat sandwich on rye with real mustard ( not the fake snot from stores ), fucking huge slab of real no bullshit ingredients cheese cake topped with glazed strawberries, and a large coffee would set you back about five bucks, and stretch your gut at the seams to choke it all down.

It was the time of long hair, lots of drugs, cheap wine, cheap beer, cheap food, cheap apartments, great night life, uninhibited women, no bras, and beaver paradise for a working teenager. The Montreal Canadiens won every stanley Cup trophy you could think of and were invincible at home games for cheap tickets. Every single big name rock'n roll act played at the Forum as well, also for cheap tickets - like, I paid $12.00 to see the Rolling Stones first time.

Good times. Wish they were still here, not back then.

Well, "phone sex" is a Service Industry isn't it? For the guys it's "Self Service".



Reminds me of an old joke. "When a man talks dirty to a woman it's Sexual Harassment. When a woman talks dirty to a man it's "$4.99 a minute".

FTW

My first outside income was preparing little league baseball fields. dragging the dirt, putting in the bases, etc. I just did it part time when my brother or his friend couldn't. Good deal. I think it was $10 and they assumed it would take you an hour. Hussle and get done in 45 minutes and you "made" more money so to speak.

Hmm. Well, there's one man in my life who I'll talk dirty--and yes, this good Methodist nurse and mother can, thanks to her job experience, talk very dirty--to for as long as he wants, no charge.

I don't think I would ever go back to that whole pay-for-fake-sex thing, nor encourage anyone else to do it--now it's all camgirls, mostly independent, chatting online with potential customers, hoping to score a private chat/show and eking out a few hundred dollars per night, working sometimes up to 16 hours per day/night. Not worth it.

Of course, having knocked out three 8 lb. plus baby boys since those days, I don't think I'm really camgirl material, anyway, although as I said in my original post, there is a fetish for everything, including (maybe especially?) MILFs. Maybe if this whole nursing thing doesn't work out...