Mariella Yasimoto-Johnson is the name, and I was born in the City of Toronto, Ontario, to a Japanese-Canadian mother and a Jamaican immigrant father. Five-foot-eleven, brown-skinned, black-haired and brown-eyed, sturdy and curvy but fit, that's me. I am the unique daughter of two different worlds. It's not easy being a mixed-race woman in the Confederation of Canada, not even in someplace as racially diverse as the City of Toronto. I do what I have to do to make it in this world. Welcome to my life.
My father, Joel Johnson moved to the City of Toronto from the island of Jamaica in the 1980s, studied mechanical engineering at the University of Toronto. He works for Hydro Ontario. My mother, professional nurse Rana Yasimoto came to Canada from the Japanese Archipelago, also known as the Home Islands, around the same time. They met, fell in love in spite of cultural differences, got hitched and had little old me. A very pretty and twisted angel.
I studied economics at the University of Toronto, and graduated with a Master's degree in 2011. I moved to the City of Ottawa in the summer of 2013 and began working for the Canada Revenue Agency shortly after. The dreaded CRA, that's who I work for. I might seem like just another boring Canadian government worker walking around downtown Ottawa but I truly lead a life like no other...behind closed doors. Professional escort, amateur dominatrix, kinky slut, I am whatever you want to be. I aim to please, folks.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a secret. I am an escort. Yes, I am one of those women who sell their bodies for money. Except I don't do it for the money. I make seventy five thousand dollars a year after taxes as an analyst for the Canadian Revenue Agency. I bet that surprises you. A tall, attractive, educated and successful woman engaging in the world's oldest profession. Well, given how I use my ass to get my job in the first place, I guess this escort business is something I was meant to get into.
The reason I got hired by the Canadian Revenue Agency has less to do with my qualifications and a lot to do with the fact that Luther Daniels, the guy from human resources, is a former lover of mine. Short, red-haired, alabaster-skinned and rather unremarkable, Luther is well-connected in Ottawa politics. One of those people who can make things happen with the snap of a finger. Like a lot of older white dudes, Luther is drawn to exotic-looking chicks like myself. I'm the type of chick who'll do anything to get ahead, so I gave Luther head. End of story.
Luther Daniels, the pudgy old white dude who got me this job wasn't too bad in bed. We got down and dirty in the basement of Luther's townhouse in the suburb of Kanata. Luther sat on the couch and I knelt before him and sucked his short, thick pale dick. I sucked Luther's dick and massaged his balls and when he came, I drank his cum. Afterwards, Luther rolled a condom on his dick, bent me over the couch and fucked me from behind. The old dude smacked my ass while fucking me, and then he came and we were done. Afterwards, Luther told me I got the job with the CRA.
In this life, you've got to do what you've got to do. Three days before I got hired, I went to the CRA office downtown and talked to the interviewer, and left my resume. Luther happened to be the boss of Julie, the preppy, blonde-haired white chick who interviewed me and he made sure I got the callback and I got hired shortly after. I love my job with the Canada Revenue Agency but the people I work with are absolutely boring.
This is what my day consists of. I arrive at work around seven in the morning, and I ride the elevator heading to the tower where my office is located. Just another well-dressed woman in a cubicle, that's me. I sit at the computer, and crunch numbers. I am the gal who sometimes calls you about your taxes when you owe the federal government. Doesn't matter if the mistake was ours, like when we give you too much money back on your tax return, we will get on your case, and that's my job.
As I said before, my job is boring and so are my co-workers. Every hour, we come down from the elevators and step outside the building to smoke. We stand around, cigarette in one hand, coffee cup in the other, with our work IDs either on a lanyard around our necks or clipped to our hips. We stand there, talking about who's making more money, the weekends spent at a cottage, and pretending not to check out the working-class guys working construction across the street. Small wonder I'd rather risk my life and my reputation by working as an escort slash dominatrix, eh?
