Candy
It’s time to come clean with you guys and tell you who I really am.
Because before all the fame, celebrity, beauty and splendour I share with you here, there was another time, a darker time and I probably wouldn’t have told you about it if I hadn’t come across some old photographs.
As some of you know, I recently moved, and moving has a habit of making things from your past suddenly reappear. Today, while looking for the charger for my Satisfyer, I found a part of my history I would rather have forgotten, but as that therapist on Instagram keeps telling me, sometimes you have to face the music.
At first I never really understood that expression. After all, facing the music is pretty much what I do here on a daily basis, but flipping through these photographs, suddenly it made sense. So here goes.
There are parts of the grid where not everyone dares to go, places where people operate in the shadows and no, I don’t mean the dumpsters I still occasionally find myself being pushed behind. This was another world.
A world of lust, a world of power and anger and, above all, a world driven by money. In that world, people knew me as Candy.
And I mean, a lot of people knew Candy.
That probably won’t surprise you. Looking at the setting in which you’ve seen me rise to fame here, you already know how I operate. I’m good at whatever I do. Candy was a busy working girl.
She had her regulars. People drove in from far away because they had heard about her through word of mouth. Quite literally. And Candy did well for her pimp. Very well. She made him money. She made him powerful. And still, like so many men presented with something exceptional, he failed to appreciate what he had.
He wanted more.
I won’t go too deeply into what happened next. The files at the DOJ are still sealed, and for all I know there are people out there who are still looking for Candy. I’m simply grateful for the plastic surgery I received afterward. The ugly scar across my face, the one I was supposed to carry forever as a reminder of him, disappeared. So did those extremely fake boobs.
Add my natural hair colour, better taste, way more money and a generally more successful life, and eventually you arrive at the woman you know today.
Doreen.
But before all that, this was me. At my low life. The photographs were taken during one of those moments when we came in from the streets for half an hour. Just somewhere warm. Somewhere we could sit together, support each other and get off our feet for a while before going back out.
I remember those women. I remember Candy.
And I will always remember the name of that place. Because nothing could have contrasted more with the life we were living outside its doors.
Hi Life.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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