NYC MISTRESS IN SAN FRANCISCO
Your San Francisco Mistress
San Francisco has a special place in my heart and the city supported my fixation with 60s counterculture and my love for Hunter S. Thompson, Timothy Leary, William S. Burroughs, among others. I wander through the damp city and feel it deep in my bones- this was the only other place, besides New York, that I could ever truly live.
It was here that I first met punks who were sex workers- women who owned their power and introduced me to a world where sensuality and dominance were something to be mastered. Sex work was starting to normalize for me. My sexual prowess was legendary, and I was by no means a slut, but everyone knew I liked to fuck. Punk femme fatale is my identity, and I have most certainly maintained it into the Ramona years. San Francisco unraveled inhibitions I didn't even know I had- my sexual prowess was already legendary, but here? It became something else entirely.
The cracks in the Bay Area became more apparent when I returned home to NYC. The punk scene was merely a clone of others, and crime was skyrocketing. I knew when it was time to trade Bay Area filth for NYC filth- more expensive filth but glamorous with seemingly more than one good punk gig every night. Plus, as a true local, I was still on the list.
I may call New York home today, but San Francisco has never let me go. I return to San Francisco a few times a year, slipping back into its rhythm effortlessly- the beautiful homes, the unparalleled food, the things I never want to see again on the street. New York is my forever home, but San Francisco is the lover I can't resist- a city that knows my secrets, keeps them well, and pulls me back time and time again.
