Free The Scorpion's Sweet Venom by Bruna Surfistinha

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     and asked her to come and keep me company, but she couldn't. I almost went crazy. So I decided to write in my blog everything
     I'd wanted to tell her that night. Someone would see it. Who knows, maybe even my family would see it. What I really wanted
     was for someone to come to my aid, save me. From my life, my story. From me.
    I was really down. I wrote a sketch of my life and said that prostitution wasn't worth it and that if I could turn back the
     clock I'd never have chosen this path. All this in a working girl's blog . . . The next day I was feeling a little better
     and decided to delete everything. People were going to think that, as well as a pro, I was crazy. I think all this happened
     because Christmas was near. I thought about mymother, home. My enthusiasm for the blog cooled somewhat and I forgot about
     it for a while.
    On 1 January 2004, I thought: I'm going to go back to my blog. Since it was a kind of diary, it made sense to start that day.
     I decided to write about my daily life instead of just offloading. And I'd also be able to record in a different way everything
     that I wrote in my agenda, especially details about each client. I'd always thought about doing a more in-depth statistical
     study when I left prostitution. For example, I'm 100 per cent certain that 70 per cent of my clients are married. I always
     ask them why they're cheating on their wives, not to mention paying for sex. There are only two kinds of answer. They're tired
     of having sex with their wives or afraid to tell their wives their fantasies because they're too prudish. Only 20 per cent
     are diehard bachelors who don't have time or can't be bothered going out (or can't pick anyone up), and the other 10 per cent
     are engaged or committed.
    I never imagined that other people would find it all so interesting. But I thought it would be fun for me. Imagine being able
     to classify sex, say what it was like. This was how I came up with my 'categories':
    - Mechanical: there's no chemistry, when I'm tired and impatient. I keep glancing at the clockand watching the time, which
     doesn't pass. I do everything begrudgingly, although I do everything I can to make the client come quickly and leave. Sometimes
     I even sigh loudly. 'Shall we change position?' the client asks. Completely bored, I answer, 'Humph', since I can't swear.
     . . . I don't even go to the trouble of moaning.
    - Couple: there's chemistry, as if we were a real couple having sex for the first time, at a motel, kissing, hugging, caresses,
     careful sex, the missionary position.
    - Smutty: does smutty need explaining? I feel like a real prostitute, and I let it all hang out. I don't really know how to
     explain it . . . With couple sex, even when it's hot, I don't feel like a prostitute. In this case I do.
    My blog was hosted in the Terra website. One night, when I went to make a post, I typed in my password and a message appeared
     saying it was wrong. It was a Friday and I'd have to wait until the following Monday to resolve the problem.
    On the Sunday, I decided to try again and, to my surprise, I saw there was a new post and, worse, it wasn't what I had written!
     I realised that someone must have hacked my computer and stolen my password . . . I was so angry I cried!
    On the Monday, I called Terra and managed toget in touch with the person responsible for the blogs. I explained what had happened
     and they managed to restore my password after a week. The person continued posting every day, pretending to be me.
    I got scared that this person might write something compromising. But it didn't happen. The person was happy just imitating
     me, and they did it so well that I actually thought I'd written some of those posts.
    I got my password back, deleted everything I hadn't written and explained what had happened to my readers. A month had barely
     gone by when my password was stolen again. This time it was much worse, because not only did the person pretend to