I first tried heroin when I was seventeen. I had a mini nervous breakdown and it was the only thing that got me out of the house without having a panic attack,..
I lost my house and ended up begging on the streets of London and Brighton, I remember a few times sitting in the pissing rain in a blanket with people walking past ignoring me and crying my eyes out...I used to will someone to just stop and ask if I was ok. I was barely eighteen and the whole experience made me very cynical and jaded to the world.
Unfortunately this has stuck with me, I used to be too trusting and empathic of other people and have been repeatedly fucked over.
After realising that begging wasn't a viable way of supporting a habit and not wanting to break my morals by mugging people or thieving I decided to become a sex worker.
Easier said than done when your a homeless junkie, but I had my age and looks on my side.
In Brighton I used to work with a friend doing 'duos' I'd make around £60-100 per session.
Having a history of sexual abuse, I had issues around sex as it was and selling my body was incredibly traumatic. I didn't mind so much working with my friend but I used to get so anxious before seeing a 'client' on my own!
When I moved to London I divided my grafting time between begging around Bank and working at Piccadilly Circus.
Piccadilly used to be where the rent boys worked from but things have changed, nowadays most male escorts (they're not really called rent boys anymore) advertise online or in gay magazines which I just couldn't afford so Piccadilly was my only option.
I used to hang around on the corner opposite the Trocadero with my jeans slung low, cruising for punters.
I didn't have much luck.
One client sticks out in my mind in particular, I had been hanging around for hours and was feeling the heroin draining from my body, the longer it went the more desperate and dope sick I was.
A guy approached me and started chatting, he was a real creep, we talked about everything except rent..!
He kept telling me he had been inside, and asking bizarre questions about whether I got turned on when I went for a shit.
He told me when he was inside and had to share cells he used to get turned on when watching guys take a shit in the same cell..
After about an hour of this pointless drivel he invited me back to his, at this point we still hadn't talked business and I still wasn't 100% sure this is what he was looking for.
We got on the bus and sat for an hour or so travelling into the depths of south London, I lived East at the time and was consciously aware of how far away from home and my heroin I was.
When we finally got to his flat we went in and he locked the iron grill on the door behind us, my heart sank at this point and I started feeling genuinely scared.
There was a homeless looking man asleep on his sofa who he quickly got rid of, I was now sat in this guys untidy bedsit, alone with him.
Now he really started with the scat talk, 'do I get hard when I shit?' and 'have I ever shat on someone?' etc etc
We finally got into bed and I worked my magic, basically trying to make him climax as quickly as possible so I could get out of there, it turned out he did want me to shit on him, I wouldn't, until I realised I couldn't make him cum without it.
I won't go into details....
It all took about an hour, I just wanted to get out of there, he payed me £20! That was all he had... that's why payment is discussed and taken beforehand but I was so desperate for the cash, and just wanted to escape at that point.
I can honestly say it was one of the most soul destroying, depressing things I've ever had to do, and it wasn't long after I cleaned up for the first time!
I've had a few experiences of being locked in peoples homes over the years, usually being assaulted whilst there.
It's left me emotionally scarred and untrusting of people.
No wonder I found solace in heroin!
Other stories include, living in car parks and sharing injecting equipment with other homeless junkies, sleeping with your morning hit in your shoes in the bottom of your sleeping bag so on one steals it...
Banging up in crack houses and car park stairwells, running away when people have OD'd (not something Im proud of but I think other addicts can relate!).
I used to have to inject a friends' forehead as it's the only vein he had left, he used to stand with a belt round his neck straining till it popped out...
There's so many, I could go on, but it's not something im proud of like I say, it's not in the least glamorous once your addicted... there's nothing cool about injecting congealed blood, crying because you cant find a vein on your foot....
