So You Love A Hooker

Tags

discrimination, escort, friends and family, Love, money, personal stories, rants, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, stigma, whore shame

For the partners of sex workers:

So you met a hooker and at first you were cool with it. You didn’t freak out when they first told you about their job and you didn’t freak them out with your response. You started seeing each other and maybe you had some reservations but figured you would work through them with time (read: talk them into your way of thinking). Or you figured whatever you had with them wasn’t so serious so it didn’t need to be a big deal. Or perhaps you even found their job a bit of a turn on. Or maybe you were never ok with it but you wanted to try to make it work anyway. Whatever your thoughts on sex work were you probably realised that it wasn’t your place to say anything… well not yet….

But that was then and this is now. Things are different now.. right? Now that you are (dun-dun-duuuun!!) in love……Over time and as your feelings for them have grown, you’ve found your acceptance for their job has diminished. In the early days you may have repeatedly declared your complete support for them and their work or promised that you would never ever ask them to quit, and maybe you even meant it, but all of a sudden things have changed and now you’re not so sure. This situation might be all new to you, but your partner has probably been through this so many times before like most hookers have. We get it… Apparently it’s different when you love us.

So now what?

Your first decision is whether to talk to your partner about the problems you’re having with their job or to just try working through it by yourself. I suggest you do a bunch of the second before doing the first. Read, think, talk to someone, then read and think some more. When emotions like jealousy take over or we lose control over those feelings of possessiveness, it’s likely that we are not going to be thinking clearly.  These feelings are very normal and human, but rarely rational. Taking time to work through your feelings will help ensure you don’t start something in the heat of the moment that you don’t know how to finish. And if you do ultimately decide to talk about your feelings with your partner it will help to be clear about your emotions and your needs, to have considered their point of view and be prepared to offer appropriate solutions.  If you’re going to open this can of worms you want to be sure about your feelings and what you want.

If you can wait till you have time to express yourself in a calm, thoughtful and respectful way it will be much safer and healthier and be more likely to produce outcomes that you can both live with. In the meantime can I suggest you try hanging out with other sex workers and their partners. Being in a loving respectful relationship with a sex worker isn’t as out there as you might think. Lots of people love sex workers and manage or struggle while being committed to loving them. You are not the only one expected to do this. Hanging out with others in the industry might help you gain some perspective both in regards to your own feelings, those of your partner and the reality of the work.

Even though your feelings may be irrational it would be unreasonable to expect that you will always be able to ignore them. If problems persist and you’re sure you’re not just having a moment, this post has some ideas and suggestions that might help you negotiate something more palatable to your sensibilities, whilst being respectful of your partner and their needs. And hopefully in the process you will become more aware of your emotions and be better at communicating, regulating and acting on them.

Often feelings about this stuff come from possessiveness, jealousy and misconceptions, you might even be experiencing some guilt or shame or fear. All perfectly normal human feelings and common characteristics, in varying degrees, of most loving relationships. These feelings can be overwhelming or complex or inevitable or over ruling. They sometimes undermine our own logic or long held values and they usually cause confusion and pain. Our emotions affect us all differently at different times and are triggered by different things. At times they may feel all consuming, we lose perspective and the issues can become magnified and out of proportion. Wait for the intensity to pass and when you’re feeling calm try to pinpoint what it is about your partner’s work that triggers these emotions.

Believe it or not, not everyone will understand or agree or feel the same way about the same things you do. These feelings might be common, but for each of us it is often different things that bother us. Your partner might not know what it is about their work that upsets you. For example it might seem obvious to you that you don’t want to hear the details of their work but they might be completely oblivious to the fact that this upsets you, or worse, they may even think you want to know.

Figuring out if there are specific aspects of their work that are bothering you more than others can be hard work and can take time. You will need to try and be reasonable and open minded here. Dig deep. Don’t be satisfied with a thought like ‘my trigger is my partner fucking other dudes for money’. You will need to push yourself further. Try to be more specific. You want to pinpoint what it actually is about them fucking other dudes for money makes you feel the way you do. Is it that you hate them visiting strangers late at night because you are worried about their safety. Maybe you hate it when they change plans with you so they can go to work. Maybe you hate it when they answer their work phone in front of you and you hear them negotiating with their clients. Maybe you hate the hours they work. Maybe it’s that you want them to save something intimate just for you. Or you’re concerned they might fuck your boss or someone you know. Who knows exactly what it is that pushes your buttons, it’s possible you don’t even know. Ultimately you might just want them to quit but if that isnt an option for whatever reason, being clear about what it is that upsets you the most will help you to negoriate a compromise about how they work that takes your feelings into account. For example: in calls only not out calls,  set or changed hours of work, changes to what service they provide or how they advertise, changes to where they work etc. Take your time to work through your feelings but try not to be  pass agg while you do it.

The next step is to put yourself in their shoes. Consider their reasons for working. What can you offer them in that department? There is no point trying to come to any agreement with your partner if their reasons for working in the first place have not been addressed or at least considered; that would be setting yourselves up for failure. Obviously for many of us a huge consideration is the money – are you in a position to provide for your partner financially? But don’t presume that money is the only thing that it’s about. There are many other reasons we choose sex work such as independence, the control and autonomy we have over our work. Or we may enjoy aspects of the work such as the healing and human side or the performance side or maybe even the sex and drama. It might be the flexibility or the easy access. What can you offer to help meet your partner’s needs in these area.

When considering your partners reasons think outside the square. Don’t just consider the reasons they may have vocalised, if you really want to cover your bases, be aware that there maybe reasons they work that you don’t know about or that they are not even clear about it. So many of us are forced to defend our work all the time in terms of money and need that we often are not comfortable or clear about the parts we do enjoy or do because we like. What else about the work might suit your partner?

By now you should have three lists, one that pinpoints the specifics of what upsets or bothers you about your partner doing sex work (your bottom line) one that considers the reasons they have chosen sex work ( their anticipated bottom line), and one that explores what you can offer to meet their anticipated needs or address their reasons (your bargaining tools). It can help to physically write it all down so you can start to build a picture of the situation and begin to develop possible solutions and suggestions to bring to the conversation.

Consider your approach to the conversation. Play out the conversation in your mind. If you want to have an honest and useful conversation with your partner about their work; don’t give them a reason to lie to you. If they have been able to trust you with the details of how, why, when, where they work, don’t fuck it up now by being an asshole. If you go in all demanding with ultimatums there are a few ways it’s going to go… 1. you break up 2. Your partner says they will do what you want just to keep the peace and you but continues to work secretly 3. They do quit resulting in them not having their needs met and holding onto some resentment towards you.

Stay focussed on the goal of the conversation which is to develop agreements that take into account their reasons for working and your specific concerns. If the conversation gets out of hand bring it back to what it is you need to be ok with this situation, not what you don’t need. Remember it’s the job you have the problem with; you love your partner, so don’t abuse or insult them or call them names.

Don’t expect or accept miracles as a solution. Whatever the conclusion of the conversation don’t make big promises or make them promise anything big. If you do come to an agreement, trial it first. Take it day to day and give your selves a time frame to check back in with each other about how its working for you both. This is just the beginning of a process.

I was able to successfully negotiate around these things with my partner once many years ago but when I tried it again more recently with a new partner it didn’t go so well, but that’s a story for another time. Remember that all relationships can be difficult regardless of what job any of us are doing so be careful to not blame all the problems on their work. Be aware that your insecurities might not disappear even if they stopped doing sex work. In any job your partner works in they might meet potential lovers – You need to be able to trust them. Be honest with yourself and don’t make them jump through hoops if there is a chance the issues are yours and nothing to do with the work. If your partner does quit or change the way they work because of your feelings, don’t take that as them repenting. Don’t make them apologise or feel guilty for their past. Encourage them to be able to talk and think about their experiences without feeling ashamed.

Don’t try to change them, You fell in love with them and their experiences are a part of them. There are so many pros to dating pros, their sassiness and independence, their skills and outfits, their connections and stories. Whores know their worth and you’re lucky enough to get to spend time with them for free – others have to pay for the pleasure!

But If you really hate their job so much and after working on it you believe there is no way around it do yoursselves a favour. Don’t stick around contributing to a toxic situation if all you can do is be hurtful and unhelpful.

If you cant or dont want to deal with it just be a grown up and walk away.

The Madame of the house

Tags

brothels, clients, decriminalisation, feminism, law reform, laws, madames, Melbourne, money, personal stories, pimps, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, south australia, stigma, the boss, Victoria, worker rights

This is a story about the time I jumped the desk to become the Madame of the house. Its about running a business in the South Australian sex industry, about who has control over who and about the myth of easy money. I wrote this for the feminists who believe our industry is dominated by male bosses that make big bucks by controlling female workers. I wrote it for every 5^th client I see who has multiplied the money he spends on sex by the hours in a day and the number of rooms in a house and thinks he has hit jackpot. I wrote it for the politicians who worry about organised crime taking over the sex industry. For the wanna be bikies n thugs that fancy playing boss man to some ladies of the night, for the desperado that thinks owning the business will control the girl and for the saviours that honestly believe they would treat their ‘girls’ differently to how we are treated anywhere else. And I wrote it for the sex workers that don’t like their boss, or are sick of having a boss, or think they could do it better, or just feel like trying something different.

This story is from many years ago, sometime after my second brush with law and before my forced break from the sex industry. I was between jobs when a friend of a friend introduced me to Neil who apparently had an interesting proposition for me. I had heard about Neil the wanna be pimp before. I use the word pimp flippantly, I’m not sure Australia has pimps, but if we do, Neil would probably LIKE to be one. He definitely had the sleaze factor to fit the stereotype but lacked the backbone. Neil had a reputation in the industry as a slimy sucker, with more money than sense and a boner for big talking. Needless to say I was curious about his proposal, but wasn’t surprised when he told me he was having another go at opening a brothel. I say another go because, as legend had it, he had tried to open a number of brothels in the past and had failed.

One of the difficulties Neil had always encountered was that he was a man. There is not much of a role for a man in a South Australian brothel, other than client. A lot of female sex workers aren’t that keen on having men hanging around on premises and the cops generally aren’t that thrilled with it either. So Neil had decided he needed to pay a female manager. In addition to that, clients are generally put off if their phone calls or door bells are answered by a man, so Neil would also need to employ a female receptionist. It struck me as ironic that in order to brag about being a big brothel boss, he had to remove himself from any actual brothel bossing. He was forced to downplay his involvement in the brothel, hand over control of the brothel, stay away from the brothel, and give up a decent amount of profit from the brothel, in order for him own a brothel.

But Neil must have been impressing someone with his brothel bragging because he was determined to try his hand at the game again. When he met me, he already had the lease on a town house in the city and had furnished it simply and adequately. He knew a few workers from other brothels who were ready to jump ship and take advantage of the new businesses honeymoon period, one of which was the friend that had introduced him to me. At the time I was in a relationship with one of those partners that made it difficult for me to do sex work, and I had been missing the industry. So when Neil asked me to manage his new business, I was excited about the opportunity to be involved in the industry in a role that I hoped my partner would find more palatable. I accepted the offer immediately.

From the beginning Neil and I disagreed about everything right down to the goofy name he had given the business. I fought for what I considered to be fair pay for all the workers of the business, I pushed for flexible conditions and I advocated for an increased budget for advertising. But Neil was stubborn or stupid and wouldn’t give. He had a bottom line that wouldn’t budge. So for those first few weeks, we did it his way. But it didn’t take long before Neil was again learning that the sex industry is not easy money and opening a brothel is not a get rich quick scheme.

Business was up and down and Neil was becoming anxious. After paying the manager a cut, the receptionist her wage, the rent, the overpriced advertising, the utilities and essential supplies for the business, Neil quickly discovered 50% of a coupla jobs a day doesn’t go far. He responded to his anxiety by reducing the advertising budget further, cutting receptionist wages and introducing ‘shift fees’ for the workers.

But it’s a vicious cycle. Without enough advertising, business became even quieter and without clients bringing in the money, the workers became unhappy. When Neil introduced the shift fee, the workers felt disrespected. Who would be happy about coming to work, sitting around all day for minimal pay with the risk being caught up in a raid AND then being forced to pay an illegal shift fee!??! They began to resent working there and those that stayed were unreliable.

Anyone who fantasises about making easy money off the backs of hookers is going to struggle. Hookers are not that easy. Many of us chose sex work for the flexibility it offers us, so we expect a flexible work place. Many of us chose it for the money we can make, so we expect to make money. Many of us chose sex work because we are good at it, so we expect to be appreciated by our employers. Neil offered his workers none of that.

But an empowered hooker is a powerful force. A hooker that knows there are ten other businesses in the vicinity that need staff (and there usually is) will not settle for anything less than what she expects. A hooker that knows its OUR service that makes the money will expect respect. And if that hooker works for a boss that disrespects her, she will disrespect them right back.

None of Neil’s workers respected him, and the business suffered because of it. One typically quiet Saturday I caught out the receptionist and worker on shift doing something dodgy. I knew they had done two jobs, but the bookwork indicated only one. They had decided to not record the second job, splitting the business’s 50% cut between them. I couldn’t blame them. They were making next to nothing and Neil’s decisions were only making it worse.

I was frustrated. I knew Neil was not meeting his target, or even covering costs, but less advertising and unhappy, unreliable and resentful workers was not helping to bring in the clients or the cash. And the expenses were still mounting.

That’s when I decided to go around him and do what needed to be done. I started taking the money from one job a day off the books and used the money to pay for more advertising. I also introduced a small retainer for the staff to cover lunch and maybe a cabfare, on those occasions when they didn’t do any jobs. And when no workers showed up to shift, I did the jobs.

At the same time Neil seemed to have an epiphany. If he wanted money he needed clients, if he wanted clients he needed workers, and if he wanted to keep the workers, he would have to loosen his rules. Since he couldn’t work himself, he was on his knees. He had no choice but to give the workers the flexibility and work conditions they were demanding. Its not unusual for sex industry employers to take advantage of the criminalised setting by attempting to control us like they would an employee but only giving us the pay and conditions of a contract worker. But in a situation where there was little money to be made, not many would accept a bad boss.

So Neil began to back off and let me take a bigger role in managing the rosters and staffing. Sneaking around behind Neils back doing jobs myself and advertising more, started to pay off and I managed to keep the business afloat a little longer. The staff appreciated the token retainer and the more flexible conditions and when I abolished the shift fee that Neil had introduced the mood shifted.

The flexible, fair and friendly work environment resulted in word of mouth reaching the workers of a brothel that had been closed down recently. It was early one quiet weekend when Winnie, an unremarkable woman in her mid 30’s came in for an interview. Looking like a proper house wife dressed in ladies floral and a perfect perm, Winnie was an unlikely looking hooker, but she bought a huge loyal and very regular client base with her. And the good fortune Winnie bought us did not stop there. She immediately sent for her two friends who she had worked with at the previous brothel. They were impressed by the guaranteed retainer our business offered and were keen to start work straight away. So at that moment, our luck had changed and business looked up. Winnie had swept in with a hoard of clients and a couple of fresh faced workers under wing and saved the day, and the business.

And so it was, that due to the decision to treat our workers well, my ability to perform ALL the duties necessary, and a little bit of good luck, business began to boom. And Neil didn’t know the half of it. His pressure was gone and he was making enough to cover his costs as well as a reasonable profit for doing nothing. He could finaly hold his head up high while he bragged round town about his latest business venture. I kept lying to him about how many jobs we were doing so I could use the extra money to continue paying the staff well, stock the business with nice things, pay for adequate advertising and offcourse I gave myself a bonus.

Everyone was happy, business was flourishing under my management, the workers were all content and making money and even Neil was satisfied. Everyone was happy except my partner. The generous pay packet I was bringing home did not sweeten the deal for them. Running any business is hard work, and clearly a sex industry business is no exception. I was on call 24/7, I was stressed about the threat of police, and I was doing lots of unrostered work relieving staff when needed. Stopping sex work and taking up this new role as manager was meant to appease my partner who was uncomfortable about sex work, but instead I had succeeded in making the sex industry a bigger part of my life than it had ever been before. My partner didn’t know about the occasions when Id provided the service myself in order to keep the doors open, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t want me involved in the industry at all.

My job was beginning to cause problems for my relationship which was probably a good thing. Looking back on this time of my life I’m glad my controlling and jealous partner made my life hell to the point I ended up walking away from the business all together. Because I nearly did something that coulda been mighta not ended well.

Neil was a shmuck. Worse than a shmuck. He was a sleazy roadblock to our success and he made me cringe. I was sick of answering to him, lying to him, even seeing him. Basically, I was sick of having him on the pay role. He was the ‘owner’ of the business, sure, but what exactly did he own? The workers? No, certainly not, most of them at this point had never even met him, and would never work for him under the conditions he wanted me to apply. Did he own the clientele? Definitely not, some clients will perhaps follow a worker from location to location, but generally clients go everywhere and belong to noone. And the clients we got came from the advertising I DID, and it was the happy skilled workers that kept them coming back. Did he own the business name? well, sure, he owned a ridiculous goofy name he chose, but that wasn’t the name that I used in our advertising, or the name that the clients had come to know, or the name that the staff and I used. The name we used, was the name I chose. Did he own premises? Well sure, he had the lease on the townhouse we operated from, but, after being there for 8 months and with a steady stream of business coming and going, it would be time to move on soon before we attracted police attention anyways. So what did he own? Some of the furniture was his, but I had also bought a lot of newer pieces for the business since we opened. And he owned the phone number.

The workers and I began talking about ditching Neil and taking complete control of his business by simply shifting the location to a new premises that was in my name. We even joked about diverting business phone to our newly connected number until Neil noticed and got round to disconnecting it.

A sex industry business, in an illegal setting, is nothing. In an environment where businesses have to move regularly, operate discreetly out of residential properties or under the masquerade of health clinics or massage parlours, a reputation or a name, an address or even a permanent phone number is not something any brothel in South Australia has. Places and faces pop up and get shut down all over town all the time, and while certain individuals may have a reputation in the industry, finding a brothel you like, is largely a case of trial and error for both sex workers and clients. So when people talk about buying a business in our industry, I always wonder what they think they are buying, and when I thought about leaving Neil and setting up shop elsewhere, I didn’t feel guilty.

I started looking for a new place to operate from and found a perfect house. It was fully furnished, in a central location and it oozed executive luxury, which was a long way from the plain and simple townhouse Neil had rented. The landlord approved my application and I was excited, nervous and determined to break away from Neil. But the night before I was due to sign the lease, my partner gave me an ultimatum. My relationship or the sex industry.

To be honest, I didn’t think too long about it. I was so sick of fighting about this, and the stress at home combined with the stress of running a business was getting too much. I allowed my partner to believe that our relationship won and the sex industry lost the competition for my loyalty. In reality, I knew I wasn’t leaving the sex industry, just leaving this role in the industry.

I suddenly realised that while there was some satisfaction and profit in successfully running my own business, it was also hard work, with big legal and financial risks. I reminisced about how easy life was when I just had to suck cocks and count cash. That night spurred on by my partner’s ultimatum, I did a 180. The next day I left the business, its workers and Neil to fend for themselves. And the next week I left my partner and went back to fending for myself.

Soon after I heard that Neil’s business had been visited by police and had been closed down. I felt a mixture of regret and relief about what was and what could have been.

Now when I reflect on the business owners and employers I have known in our industry I notice that those that have survived in the industry the longest are current or ex workers themselves, and I think that’s due to the fact that they willing and able to jump back over the desk and into the bed, in order to keep the doors open when business is tough.

The South Australian sex industry is also made up of lots of collectives of workers and private and independent workers. Having these choices easily available to us is an important aspect in ensuring we have the power to negotiate pay and conditions that suit us.

However, the fear of the police and the law does mean many workers are reluctant to work for themselves, as part of a collective or open their own business. Criminalisation does mean that many workers will not be willing to risk taking out a lease on a property in their own name and instead will opt for working anonymously for a boss. We NEED law reform urgently in this state, but any new laws we consider must support our choice to work in a variety of ways. We do not want laws like those in Victoria that favour big business and make it impossible for the average worker to try out other roles in the industry, or to work for themselves, or that stops a group of sex workers from working together. Any new laws must not take away the power we DO have. That’s one of the reasons I advocate for decriminalisation. It is the only model of law reform that protects and empowers sex workers allowing us to work for ourself, in collectives, or even to open our own small business. It’s the only model that supports our cottage industry here in SA.

But until we get decriminalisation I will continue to giggle and enjoy the stories I hear about bosses who attempt to rip off workers but end up getting ripped off themselves. Because its true that the most successful businesses are those where the workers are happy and respected.

Once a client

Tags

clients, friends and family, Love, money, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, south australia, stigma

This piece is an original and true story written by me and recently published in ‘Johns, Marks, Tricks and Chickenhawks: Professionals & Their Clients Writing about Each Other’ Edited by David Henry Sterry and R.J. Martin Jnr. Which is the sequal to the equally as awesome ‘Hos Hookers, Call Girls and Rent Boys: Professionals Writing on Love, Money and Sex’. Do yourself a favour!

I met Barry during the time I was working at 333, which was both the name and street number of a typical suburban brothel in Adelaide Australia. 4 bedrooms, one bathroom, client waiting room, ‘girls’ (staff) room, receptionist and us sex workers. It was clean, safe, sparse and far from high class. I was a 25 year old single mother and uni student with average looks and average attitude, dressed in a wig, a hooker dress and trashy stay up stockings. I was half way through a fourteen hour shift one Sunday evening when Barry rung the brothel doorbell. Brushing our hair and applying another layer of lipstick the three workers on shift clip clopped in our high heels one at a time into the waiting room where Barry sat. We introduced ourselves, smiled, sussed him out, did our best to impress and then clip clopped back to the staff room. It is impossible to predict which worker a client will choose so I always got a bit of a thrill when the receptionist called my name, especially when it was a slow night.

Barry booked me for an hour and I provided my service in one of the dimly lit, no frills brothel rooms. An hour can be a long time to spend shut away with a stranger in four small walls especially if you don’t get along. Fitted out with nothing but a double ensemble bed, a bedside table, a clock radio and a wooden chair time could drag and those rooms could end up feeling claustrophobic. But Barry and I clicked and the hour passed quickly. The sex was over early in session and we spent the rest of the hour lying around naked telling silly stories. Just before the hour was up Barry got aroused again and he happily offered to extend the booking. During the second hour I got to hear Barry’s story; he worked out at the mines in central Australia and had a fly in/ fly out contract working solidly for two and a half weeks and then having ten days off. He came to Adelaide during his downtime and spent all his money on 5 star accommodation and partying.

Still in the tiny room the second hour went by quickly and easily. We were having fun and Barry didn’t want to say goodbye, so with only 3 more hours left until I finished work he decided to pay the fee to book me out for the rest of my shift. We spent the whole night in that room fucking, laughing and talking. I can’t deny I was attracted to Barry’s obvious disposable income, and I was flattered that he was willing to spend so much of it on time with me. I also enjoyed his company and his sense of humour so at the end of the 5 hours I agreed to meet him after work and hang out in the bar of his hotel – for free.

Mixing business with pleasure is widely warned against in many businesses and the sex industry is no different. Infact in the circles I mixed and worked in it was considered a big no no. My friends would have called me crazy and my boss would have sacked me, so I kept it to myself.  I was crossing a lot of lines. I might have spent hours alone naked in a room with this guy but he didn’t know my real name and he hadn’t seen the real me or even my real hair! I surprised myself when without too much thought I agreed to meet him in the lobby of his hotel. Nothing but the time and place had been confirmed or negotiated and I felt vulnerable but excited.

After spending five hours with me, Barry left the brothel and went back to his hotel while I packed up my work gear, collected my pay and headed home. Once home I had about half an hour to pretty myself up before calling a taxi into town. I noted in my head that the taxi was was going to be at my expense and I felt a bit annoyed with myself for not only agreeing to give away my time for free but also spending my own money in order to do it. Then I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had made good money on this night, largely because of Barry.

I let the butterflies take over. What will I wear? He only knows me as the hooker in a trashy short dress and too much cleavage. What I choose to wear will represent the real me, and what about my hair! He only knew me with the sexy sleek stylish wig hairdo, but my real hair underneath was more like pink rock chick. I was all nervous and excited. I showered, put on my expensive perfume and my matching girly undies and bra, the ones I kept only for my personal life. Then I put on my jeans, sneakers and hoodie. I looked in the mirror and tried to see myself through his eyes. I looked like a more wholesome version of the person he met in the brothel hours before, more like the girl next door than sultry sex kitten. With just a brush of mascara and lip gloss, my crazy hair looking cute and my clothes comfortable, I still felt sexy with my favourite underwear and scent on my skin.

I hoped Barry appreciated that he was getting the real me, in my real clothes. I hope he knew that he was lucky. I wanted him to understand the significance. But when I met up with him he didn’t seem concerned with my changed appearance one way or the other.

That night was fun; we partied with his money until it was time for me to return to my child and real life. We made plans to catch up next time he was in town, and then the time after that. This hotel room romance continued for only a few weeks before Barry made me an offer. He wanted commitment, he wanted me to stop working and he was prepared to put his money where his mouth was. I didn’t want to give up sex work but if he was prepared to financially support me I would consider it, who wouldn’t be tempted by not having to go to work right? He told me he was sick of hotel rooms and after working hard all month he wanted to come back to a home. He offered to rent a nice house for me and my son so that he could stay there during his downtime. It sounded perfect to me, ten days of fun while he was in party mode followed by twenty days of the house to myself while he went back to work 400 km away.  I jumped at the offer.

For the first time our fling shifted from hotel rooms and bars into the public and domestic domain. We looked at houses together and visited friends, he spent time with my son and he met my mum. Everything went well and our new home was gorgeous. He was happily paying all the rent because it was still cheaper than the expensive hotels he used to pay for and I got to live somewhere beautiful rent free. We spent his first visit home playing house; I cooked, he bought me flowers, we cuddled on the sofa and watched movies. It was fun. His second time home was less enchanting. He was less appreciative and I was less excited by cooking. We bickered for the first time but when we kissed each other goodbye I had hope that next time would be better.

While he was gone things were good. We talked on the phone and sent emails, he paid my bills and we missed each other. But when he returned it didn’t seem so much fun anymore. Real life got in the way of the sex, romance and indulgence that had bought us together. We did dishes instead of ordering room service. We sat on the couch and read the paper instead of rolling around on the crisp white sheets of hotel beds. We talked about bills and shopping lists instead of fantasies and fears. Once domesticity set in our true colours began to shine. I had thought that all those hours spent alone together surrounded by four walls would have given us an opportunity to really get to know each other.  I thought all that talking and laughing and exploring and confessing would have meant I understood what I was getting myself into.  But it was the outside world, the real life pressures and the daily distractions that really tested our compatibility, or lack of.

We continued our relationship together for about six months but it felt like 6 years. By the end of it I was bored and he was demanding. I was broke and he was sick of paying for my expensive phone bills. We still had fun but the shine had worn off and there were lots of times when we would argue or just ignore each other.

Instead of missing him I was happy when it was time for him to go, but we both pretended to be sad. We had settled into the house, my son and I were happy in our new home and there was no way I could afford the rent by myself. I had a part time job but Barry had made me give up sex work so my income was small. I wanted to go back. I missed the money, the independence of making my own money, the other workers, the attention from clients and the excuse to wear trashy dresses and high heels. I wanted out of this deal with Barry and sex work was going to be my way out. I fantasised about returning to work for a few weeks but I didn’t take it any further initially because I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea and I didn’t want to hurt Barry. During his next visit home I tried to reconnect with him but he seemed so distant. Then he bluntly told me he wanted me to ‘make my hair normal’ and I knew for sure that we were not suited. I liked my cute pink hair and if there is one thing being a hooker has taught me, it’s that everyone is someone’s type. I didn’t want to stick around with Barry if I wasn’t his type. And then when I thought about it I realised he wasn’t really my type either, he had a temper and he was often quite chauvinistic. We spent the rest of his stay going through the motions until he left early. He always left at 4pm after making a big song and dance about how much he was going to miss me and he always wanted sex before he left because it was a while in between. But this time he left at 2pm with barely a kiss goodbye saying that he was tired and wanted to get back in time for an early night.

Now it was obvious to me that leaving early wasn’t about him needing sleep.  He was always tired when he headed back to work but that had never stopped him from dragging the process out as long as possible. I didn’t know why he was leaving early this time, I just presumed he had come to the same conclusions about our relationship as I had, but I didn’t dwell on it. I didn’t really care what his reasons were I was just relieved to get my house back two hours earlier than expected so I could plot my escape.

I had made my mind up, it was over. I still didn’t know how I was going to tell Barry but first things first, I needed to make some money. I was going to go back to sex work and pay my own rent and then I would call Barry and tell him of my decision. Sometime before his next visit.

When Barry had been reading the paper earlier that day I had noticed the sex industry add pages in the classifieds section.  As soon as he walked out the door I poured myself a wine, grabbed the paper and sat down ready to find myself a job in a brothel. I flicked through looking for the ‘adult relaxation’ section. I knew there would be plenty of ‘looking for staff’ adds amongst the columns and columns of names, numbers and promises of a good time. I looked through the paper three times, but I couldn’t find the page with the adds. They had been there before, I had seen them. I found the section and page number listed in the contents table…. Page 16. I turned the pages but page 16 was not there. On further inspection I realised that page 16 had been removed. Presumably by Barry. Barry who had left my house two hours earlier than necessary, without hassling me for sex, with a list of local hookers and their phone numbers.

The penny drops, but I am not mad, instead I see my out. The irony of catching my boyfriend sneaking around with hookers only because I was trying to sneak around and be a hooker myself was not lost on me. I was just annoyed with myself for crossing the line with a client in the first place. I should have known better. I am payed to be the professional. My client should be able to fall in love all they want, safe in the knowledge that their sex worker will not let them take it any further. But I let us both down.  If I had have maintained my professional boundaries Barry could still be paying me by the hour instead of sneaking round paying someone else by the hour – and we would all be happy.

A journey out of town

Tags

clients, discrimination, escort, friends and family, laws, Love, money, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, south australia, stigma, the boss

After writing about the time I was dramatically evicted from the country town I was working in, I wanted to write more about my regular trips out of town. For a few years that was the way I worked. I would travel to some rural location, work solidly  for a couple days and return home cashed up. Sometimes I would go to different places but mostly I worked in the same town. It started with an agreement I made with my partner of the time. The only way he was going to be ok with me doing sex work is if I left town to do it.

So when a friend in the industry gave me a tip that there was decent cash to be made in a town few hours drive away, i decided to give it a go. I discussed it with my partner, chose a date and started making plans. As the time got closer, I became more nervous for different many reasons; was I going to make money? What if I lost money? Would it be worth the time it was taking from my busy life? Will I feel differently about the work after not having worked for a while?  Would I hate this particular way of working? Am I going to hate being stuck with a driver in a country town, miles from home? Will my partner act weird towards me when i got home? Would he think the money was worth it? Would there be any trouble from the police in town, or the hotel management or clients or the locals? I had all this on my mind as I planned my trip. All my decisions were based on attempting to minimise my financial and personal risk.

I ran an advert in the personals section of the local town paper the week before I was going to be there asking people to book in advance, as well as for the week that I was there. I never count the money before it’s in my hand but I was hoping to get an idea as to whether it was going to be worth my while or not by asking for advance bookings and i figured that giving the potential clients early notice of my trip couldn’t be a bad thing either. When planning future trips I decided to make it a rule that unless I had 10 confirmed bookings, I wouldn’t go. Often one or two would  cancel when I was already in town but I could usually pick a few new ones up too.

For this first trip I decided to use a driver. For the following trips I ditched the driver in favour of going with another worker, or even by myself but this time I wanted the security of having someone with me and I wasnt sure if business was going to be good enough to take another worker.

The day came, my driver arrived and we hit the road. I had my two phones, one for work, one for personal, a piece of paper with the details of the 12 confirmed bookings I had for the weekend, my little handbag with condoms, lube, massage oil, and a mini vibrator, a backpack with a little black dress, heels, stockings, trackies, a T shirt, make up, and toiletries. We drove for hours, telling each other stories and listening to music.

My driver was a friend of a friends, he had a nice car and he turned out to be very efficient and useful. He drove me all the way there and back, ran my errands, provided my security and even answered my phone and took bookings while i was busy. In return I paid him a flat fee plus expenses. It felt very luxurious having my own employee.

In trying to reduce the likelihood of contact with the police or being kicked out of my hotel, I decided to do mostly escort bookings where i visited the clients and only had the occasional client visiting me in my hotel. This is not my proffered way of working and in this town it was worse than usual. The town had had a big influx of workers and not enough accommodation to keep up so as a result I was visiting clients in caravan parks, share houses and on mattresses on the floor. I would have much preferred the clients visit me where I was in control of my surroundings but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and I didn’t want my first trip to end disastrously. I kept discreet, had security measures in place and charged $50 more than I normally did.

I arrived in town at around 2pm and had 2 clients booked in straight up. As we got into town, I called my first client to let him know I was close and my driver pulled into a petrol station so I could use the bathroom and freshen up. It was going to be my first client in a while, I was in a new town, visiting them at their house. I didn’t know what to expect. As I knocked on his door and introduced myself, it all came back to me, like riding a bike. I took the cash and did my thing, in and out and on to the next one. They were not easy but not difficult either. I spent the full hour massaging, talking, sucking, fucking, washing and dressing. No early minutes for me. But I jumped into the car at the end of the second job happy that I had already made enough money to cover my expenses and I was ready to work hard and go home with a fortune.

My driver had taken a booking for me while I was in the second job, this time the client was going to come to my hotel room. I had an hour to spare so I relaxed and showered in my room. All the money I made from here on in was profit and it was only 4pm. I had shaken off the nerves of seeing my first client and my phone was ringing hot. I was trying not to get too excited about money i hadn’t even made yet.

I set my room up and got myself ready for my client. My driver was waiting to make sure i was ok, and then he was going to get me dinner. While waiting for my client to arrive I answered my phone and filled up my booking sheet between 8pm and midnight. I was feeling good that i was going to make money and I still had a couple of hours free straight after the next client.

The 6 – 8pm time slot stayed empty and i remembered it’s always quiet during that time wherever you are, it’s dinner time. It didn’t matter though because I was busy the rest of the evening, finishing up at 1am, exhausted and cashed up. I soaked myself in a hot steamy shower, put on my trackies and then rolled around in my money. I am not even joking. When i publish my book, you will see the photos of me rolling in $50 notes.

I had two bookings for first thing in the morning, one with a client from the night before and the other one was in the cabin of a truck. The client was too nervous to come to my hotel because he thought that people would see him and know he was visiting a hooker which is a common concern in a small town. I often wondered when i went out for food or through the drive through, if people knew i was the hooker that was advertising in their paper. Especially after i had been to the same town a few times.

By the time I had finished the truck job it was nearing check out time and i had to make a decision. I still had bookings for the next night but only a couple, and nothing during the day. Over breakfast I considered my options, should I  to stay on for another night or call it quits and head home. I had made nearly 2 grand and I was exhausted. I decided to leave on a high. I checked out of the hotel and did one last escort job on the way out of town.

The drive home felt so amazing. A renewed feeling of whore power! After 2 years of struggling on part time minimum wage, all  I had done was outlay $50 in advertising plus a spare sim card and i was able to make 2 grand in just over 24 hours with very little planning.

I was tired all over but i felt satisfied. I rewarded myself with a facial, massage and manicure and pedicure when I got home.

Over the coming years I got to know the town, the clients, the hotels, the take away shops, the bars, the pay weeks, and the routine. It wasnt always as financially rewarding as the first time, but it was successful for many years. It was always hard work but it was always the same amazing feeling on the drive home. Feeling powerful, feeling satisfied, feeling the big wad of cash..

So you’ve met a hooker…

Tags

discrimination, friends and family, Love, mother blame, personal stories, rants, Relationships, safe sex, sex industry, Sex Work, stigma, whore shame

So you’ve met a sex worker. Maybe someone has recently “come out” to you, maybe you met a sex worker at a party, maybe a friend or lover has just told you about their sex work or maybe you’re a social worker and one of your clients is a sex worker. You might not be sure how to react, you might have some questions or concerns or you might not have an issue and want to let the person know. Maybe you have seen the Shit they say to sex workers video and the Shit they say to strippers video and you don’t want to be a cliché. This post will help guide you through those first few moments after someone tells you they are a sex worker. Take note because you never know when you are talking to a hooker.

First of all, stay calm. If the idea of sex work shocks, excites or upsets you, just relax. Don’t say something dumb in the heat of the moment. Give yourself a moment to compose yourself and  consider this post before you open your mouth. If you are not at all shocked or concerned either way, then feel free to act normally.

Take a moment now to think about every stereo type you can imagine relating to sex workers. Think of the pretty woman, and the bodies in dumpsters on Law and Order, of high-class call girls, and desperate drug dependant street workers, about sex slaves, pimps and dangerous clients about sex workers childhoods, their reasons for working, their lifestyle. Every stereotypical image you can think of and then some.

I want you to understand that every single time we tell someone that we are a sex worker, we do so knowing the person we tell may have one or all of these assumptions about sex workers. When we tell someone we are a sex worker we risk having  them instantly apply and compare any or all of those stereotypes to us. Imagine how we might feel when we disclose our job to you, or anyone. If its hard for you, it’s hard for us.

Its important that we see that our job doesn’t change anything for you. That you don’t presume anything about us just because we are sex workers. That you don’t judge us. If you want to respond in ways that demonstrate this, here are some hints from my personal perspective:

1. Just because I tell you about my job, doesn’t mean I have told everyone else. Please don’t parade me around the party expecting me to play the role of happy hooker for the amusement of all your friends.

2. Our job is not inherently violent, it is not an accepted part of our job, and many of us work our entire careers without experiencing workplace violence. Some of us have experienced violence at work, but it’s polite to wait for appropriate safe and supportive spaces before bringing up sensitive past events. What I’m trying to say is when I tell you I am a sex worker, don’t let the first or second or even third question be ‘so, how often do you get hit’.

3. Sex work doesn’t always include penis and vagina penetration. Sex work can be anythingand everything related to sex. Massage with a happy ending, stripping, bondage and discipline services or any number of things. Dont presume you know about the service I provide unless I tell you.

4. Don’t presume anything about my sexuality, my sexual boundaries, my sex drive or my sexual preferences. The sex I do for work is work and is not necessarily related to the sex I do for pleasure. Me being a sex worker doesn’t preclude me from also being in a monogamous relationship, or being celibate, or dating, or being fussy, or being promiscuous or being gay, or being sexually adventurous or being shy in the bedroom. All on my own terms. And just because I sell sex at work, doesn’t mean I’m always working or that I will sell it outside of work, and it doesn’t mean I’ll fuck you. But it doesn’t mean I wont either.

5. No it’s not OK to ask me if I was abused as a child, If my dad loved me, if I have any self-esteem, or what I spend my money on. All I did is tell what job I do, not ask for a psychological/financial assessment. My relationship with my parents is hardly relevant, I can bore you with my childhood stories some other time when we all start talking about childhood and daddy issues. My bills and finances are none of your business and my personal stuff is my personal stuff. Right now I’m trying to tell you about my job, and I am judging your reaction. These questions show me you are looking for reasons and needing an explanation or excuse. Your questions may seem innocent and harmless but have a look at your assumptions behind them or  at the  least remember the stereotypes that i deal with and  understand how it makes me feel when you respond to my disclosure with questions like that.

6. If you have known other sex workers, feel free to tell me about it, particularly if you hold those sex workers in high regard. I don’t need to hear about your ex who was a hooker who you hate or about some hooker you saw in a movie who was hot. Dont bunch us together or pretend you know anything about me just because you once knew a hooker. If you are telling me about another sex worker you know, make sure its because it is ether relevant to the conversation in some other way or because you are trying to reassure me that my job is no issue and I am welcome in your group. But don’t break someone’s confidentiality. Dont point out the other hooker at the party or tell me that Dave’s girlfriend is a stripper. That’s not cool and you just made me wish I never told you.

7. Dont feel sorry for me, ask me about other jobs I could be doing, ask me what my goals are in life, offer to help me with a resume or lecture me about my future. If I need help in career planning or employment pathways I will ask. If, by the way, I do want to consider other options outside the sex industry, dont presume it’s because I hate the sex industry and am ready to repent.

8. Dont tell me if you think its hot that I’m a hooker or I’ll charge you by the hour. Its my job, I’m not at work. If you were talking to me as a hooker, you’d be paying me by the hour.  In my personal life I like people who like me even when I’m not a hooker.

9. Dont compare me to other sex workers, either positively or negatively. You don’t make me feel good by telling me I’m smarter than other hookers, or that at least I don’t work off the street. You might think you are giving me a compliment, but it’s very backhanded. Not to mention, what if I do work from the street, or have worked from the street. Your judgements are showing again.

10. Dont ask me about the intricacies of my work unless its necessary or I give you permission to ask. It’s like a doctor doesn’t want to start looking at everyone’s skin irritations and swollen glands when they are at a BBQ. Also when you ask me if my clients are gross or dirty, or if I kiss, or how often I get tested, or how many clients i fuck in a shift, I know your making those judgements about me. Why else do you want to know about the attractiveness of my clients or how many of them I have sex with? You’re being grossed out and it’s offensive.

11. Dont tell me you couldn’t do it. Yes you could, you just choose not too. I’m not superhuman, I wasnt born with a whore gene. I find it insulting when someone thinks there is something inherently different about me. I would rather not work as a plumber cleaning shitty sewage pipes, but I COULD do it. Obviously.

Now, obviously there will be times when some of these questions feel relevent to you. For example if you are in a sexual monogamous relationship with someone, their sexual practices at work, especially their safe sex practices, may be important to you. I am not saying you have no rights to ask those questions, I am saying it’s probably not a good time to ask those questions at the time of disclosure. I am suggesting that you listen, trust, show your non judgement first. Then at a different time when you have had time to consider what you really need to know and for what reasons you can have that conversation. Be clear though, that your insecurities or concerns or lack of awareness are usually your issues. We may be willing to help you work through them, but it’s important you own it.

If you want to ensure that people feel comfortable and safe enough around you to disclose their sex work status, or share stories or information about their work, there are some things you can do to help make that more possible.

1. When you hear stories about sex workers anywhere ever, speak up! Show your support. You never know who around you might do or might have done sex work. Maybe it’s them telling you the story, testing the waters, checking your reaction before telling you about their own sex work.

2. When someone discloses let them know that you are cool about their job and then follow their lead. How you do this will depend on your relationship if you just met someone at a party  “ok, cool, im a teacher/nurse/student/etc” should do the trick. If its your partner “ok, thanks for telling me, i love you/ I really like you/ I support you/etc” and then let them make the next move. If you don’t get all your questions answered right then and there, it’s ok. By providing a safe space you are increasing the likelihood of getting the information you want.

3. Try saying something positive. Like “it’s great you have a job that fits around your studying/parenting/other interests or responsibilities” and just see what they say. You are all of a sudden giving us permission to talk about our job both the positive and the negative. You have shown us in one sentence that you hold no judgements. In fact I really really recommend you try saying this to someone when they tell you they are a sex worker. Let me know how it goes.

Of course all of this only applies to those that have any desire to have the person  in their life in any capacity in the future and for those who want the person disclosing to feel safe in their presence and those who wish to behave appropriately and respectfully. You may have some concerns or some feelings about the issue and that is ok, you may even be unsure about your feelings. But there is plenty of time  to work through any whorephobia you may have lurking later. If you are willing.

However if you have a big problem with sex work or sex workers and you have a severe reaction to the disclosure it might be best if you quietly leave the room without making a scene. Try to say as little as possible so as to not incriminate yourself any further. I just told you what my job is, not that I’m about to murder someone. I don’t need to explain myself. I don’t need your permission. I don’t need your judgement. I have heard  it all before and I was expecting this. If you stick around and show me how you really feel either purposefully or inadvertently,  I will react in one of two ways 1. I’ll answer your questions say what you need to hear, respond in the ways i need to get your approval and make it stop  or I’ll defend myself, stand my ground, put you in your place. And you don’t want to be  put in your place by an angry hooker. for real.

After all of this, if your still looking for something to say let me suggest “can I get you a drink?”

The boys in brown

Tags

clients, cops, country towns, discrimination, fantasy, friends and family, laws, Love, money, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, south australia, stigma

I used to travel around South Australia and sometimes beyond for a weekend every month in order to sex work anonymously. I had an arrangement with my partner at the time that I could work with his blessing but not in our own city where the chances of me fucking his boss were increased. The first time I went away it was a risk, a financial risk but it felt risky in other ways too because I was not sure what to expect of the town, of the clients, of the accommodation, or any other variable I could imagine. I hired a driver, a friend of a friend. We agreed that I would pay him a flat fee for the weekend to drive me there and back and to all my jobs. He was employed to provide my transport and my security. I was worried that I wouldn’t make enough money to pay him and still make a good profit but I need’nt have, I was very busy. And so my successful out of town business (ad)ventures continued for a couple of years. I have many stories to tell about these trips away, about the clients, the towns, the jobs, the way I felt. But this story is about the time I was kicked out of town by the boys in brown.

It was the third time I had been to this particular seaside town and each time I had had mixed results. The first time I made a fortune and the second time I barely covered costs. But this time was going to be a winner, my add in the local paper had scored me many back to back confirmed bookings and many more enquiries.

On this occasion I had decided to fly rather than drive and with no car I had no requirement for a driver. I arrived in town alone with a reservation for a nice holiday apartment, my mobile phone, my bag of tricks and a booking sheet full of in-call appointments. It was too early to check into my apartment so I wandered around town window shopping and buying supplies for the weekend. The phone was ringing off the hook but it was mostly just my first client pestering to come and see me early. I kept explaining that I hadn’t yet checked into my apartment yet and that I would call him when I was ready. He was very eager.

It is because of over eager clients like him (among other reasons) that I don’t give out my address until I am ready to greet them at the door. I will take the booking and their phone number and give them a general vicinity of my apartment but I make them call me again 10 mins before the booking to get the full details. This stops anyone knocking at my door before I am ready, when I am not there or when I am with another client. It also means that it is only the genuine clients that know exactly where I am. Makes me feel safer.

Eventually the time came when I could head back to my apartment and check in.  I had done my best to choose a holiday apartment that was suitable to work from. And by suitable I mean, no management on premises and definitely no reception that the client had to walk through before getting to me. I also consider things like, security, but not too much security. I want my clients to be able to get from their car to my front door with as little fuss as possible. And so do they generally. This apartment met all the criteria but  the caretakers were hanging around cleaning some of the recently vacated apartments which always make me nervous. And my first client was still calling. I decided to let him come what was almost two hours early because that would mean I would have a two hour break before my next booking and would hopefully rouse less suspicion the from caretakers if they happened to still be hanging around.

I set up my apartment ready for work. In the bedroom I had my tissues and wet ones on one bedside table and massage oil and talcum powder on the other. In one bedside of drawer I have the condoms and lube and the other I have my toys. In an open cupboard I have my costumes, lingerie and dress ups, all aimed at exciting a client or extending a booking or charging extra. Just having them there in view is often enough to help the session along, or plant the seed for a second booking.

I cover the bed with a coverall blanket over all the bedding and place a nicely folded towel on top. When the client comes I unfold the towel for them to lie on decreasing any mess. At the end of the night I get my own pillow from home and take the blanket off the bed leaving fresh bedding for me to sleep in.

I turn the big lights off and the bedside lamps on. I like background music playing, preferably something smooth and sexy with some bass but the clock radio was often all I had.

In the lounge I had porn playing on mute. Purely to encourage longer bookings and to provide a more… inclusive service, not just a bedroom one. Which is why I also had lots of snacks and beverages to offer clients. I had higher prices and discounts for longer bookings trying to decrease clients without decreasing my profits. Mainly because I was scared of being noticed by the hotels I stayed in and so I didn’t want a steady stream of men coming and going. I had the breath mints out, drinks in the fridge, 2 mobile phones and a piece of paper full of names, numbers and times.

I was nearly ready so I gave my first client the details of where to come but asked him to wait 15 more mins and he agreed. I was hoping the caretakers would leave before he came but of course he doesn’t wait he arrives straight away. I should have known by his incessant phone calls. I let him in and I asked him how long he would like to stay for, which is  really just a prompt for “let’s do business”  since we have already discussed on the phone how long. He tells me and I ask for the agreed upon fee. He doesn’t have enough money.

He did the usual “Oh, I’ll go to the bank and come straight back” routine. Its annoying at the best of times but this time, I was anxious because of the caretakers still hanging around the site. I wanted him to stay rather than come and go and come back again so I asked him how much money he had on him and negotiated a shorter service for a lesser fee, just to keep him in my apartment. Again, hoping that the caretakers would leave before he finished.

He paid, he stayed and he loved it. When I showed him out I was happy to notice the caretakers had left. I shut the door behind him, chucked my money with the phones and booking sheet and went to jump in the shower. But there was a knock at the door. I thought it was going to be my annoying client who had already proven a lack of understanding of my way of doing business. I had only shown him out the door less than 5 mins ago, maybe he left his keys behind or something. I hadn’t yet given my address out to anybody else.

So I threw on my dress quickly, no underwear and opened the door. It took me a minute to process who was on the other side, two guys wearing a brown uniform. The country police.

“We have reason to believe you are running a prostitution business from here”

I laughed. “Why on earth would you think that?” I don’t know how convincing I sounded, I usually lie pretty badly, so I’m guessing I was hopeless.

Apparently the caretakers had called them. I couldn’t believe it. “I have had one male friend visit me and you think I am a prostitute!!!?” I wasn’t actually faking my indignation. Apparently my stupid client had said something to one of them on his way up. Something like “Do I pay you?”.

“So one stupid man asks if he pays the hotel caretaker and that makes ME a prostitute? How ridiculous, maybe he was wanting to rent a room or something”.

No, I have to leave the apartment regardless because it is the prerogative of management and they have asked me to leave. It seemed I didn’t have much choice so I agreed to pack my stuff. Both the cops came into the apartment to “help me pack up”.

Take a moment to think back to the scene I described earlier about how I had my apartment set up, what I was wearing, and the money next to the booking sheet, next to my phones. It became obvious what was going on.

They went all good cop/bad cop on me. They took my details and tried to insist I gave them the phone numbers for both the phones. I wouldn’t admit to their allegations and I refused to give them the second mobile number. It would link to my adds. So I told them it was my phone for my straight job and that I did not want them calling me at work accusing me of being a prostitute! I knew my rights, all I have to give is my name date of birth and address. I didn’t have to say anything else.

And THEN the bad cop came in with a camera! He was going to take a photo of me. I hadn’t even been charged with anything. I asked him if I had a right to refuse and he said “oh it’s just something we do now”. I said again “do I have a right to refuse?” He said “sure you can refuse but then I’ll take you down the station and charge you with prostitution”.

By this time in my life I knew the laws pretty much back to front. Probably better than mister bad cop and his good cop partner put together. There is no charge of “prostitution” there are a range of other charges such soliciting, receiving money in a brothel etc, but he didn’t have any evidence for anything. He had one guy, one girl and some porn. Sure they could claim I was going to engage in illegal activity by turning the hotel room into a ‘brothel’ with the booking sheet but it’s not illegal until you do it.

So I refused the photo and told him he had no evidence to press charges. I was relieved when he didn’t try anyway but on the way out he told me that if I tried any other hotel they would find me there too and I believed him. So I gave up. I changed my flights so I could fly home that night and headed out to the airport. I had hours to wait so I sat and drank the wine I had bought for my clients and contacted all my bookings to cancel and let them know what had happened.

One of my clients was so disappointed he asked if he could come see me right there, right now in the airport. After a few wines and a big financial loss this actually seemed like an option. After all I still had the whole afternoon to wait and I was bored. So I agreed. He picked me up in his ute and drove me to a quiet spot not far from the airport.

40 mins later he dropped me back at the airport and I’d almost recovered my loss. And I had another good story.

But baby, just think of what we could do..

Tags

brothels, couples, discrimination, feminism, friends and family, Love, money, parenting, personal stories, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, single mothers, south australia, stigma

Another love story. Complete with love, lies, sex, summer holidays and a little bit of communication. When I met Luke I was happily hooking in a brothel 2 shifts a week, studying part-time, working a ‘straight’  job and parenting but I still found time to do a little partying. I was single, my kids spent a couple of nights a week with their father and I was still young so every now and then I’d go out on the town with my besti’s and on some of these occasions I got lucky. Or I should say, sometimes I went home with someone and they got lucky!

By this point in life I had made a decision to keep my sex work job a secret. I had children to think of, I had an ex partner, the father of my kids, who I didn’t want to give ammunition, I had study, a straight job and a future. I was not ashamed of my sex work, it was just such a non issue that I couldn’t be bothered dealing with the stigma if I didn’t have to, and I wanted to protect my children from it. It was sex work that had allowed me study part-time, given me the freedom  to be a single mum rather than stay in an unhappy relationship, allowed me pick and choose straight jobs, only accepting those that were flexible and willing to work around my family and my study. It  was sex work that meant I could buy the expensive texts books I needed for Uni, and take my kids to overpriced music lessons and still left me with enough money to have a big night out every now and then. I was desperately scared of having to give all that up and I thought that keeping it a secret would prevent that from happening.

And it worked. I didn’t tell Luke the night I met him at the party. Actually we had met quite a few times over the years, but he had never really left an impression on me before. But that night he did and we spent the night together and then later in the week another night and then an afternoon. I didn’t want to tell him my secret because then it’s not a secret. What if we stopped  seeing each other after a short time and then he told everyone else. I decided it was none of his business and that if we were still seeing each other after 3 months I would tell him.

3 months came and went and Luke and I were still seeing each other. He spent time with me and the kids and it was getting fairly serious. I had dropped my shifts in the brothel back to only one per week, and I didn’t want to tell him. I knew by now that he would hate it. I knew that he would make me stop. I knew he would be upset I had kept it from him. And I knew it didn’t have to be that way. We were not living together so I still had my own expenses, and my brothel shift just moulded seamlessly into my busy and respectable life, I wasn’t technically lying…… I just said I was going to work.

I didn’t want to give up what I viewed as my independence and so I kept sex working and I kept it a secret. For nearly two years.

Possibly not the right thing to do, but I am certainly not alone. Half the people I worked with at the time were hiding it from their partners as well. It seems easy to justify when you know it’s just work. And as time went on, it just seemed more and more impossible to tell him. I wanted him to know, sometimes I felt like he just didn’t want to know. I mean, why didn’t he ask more questions, Even if he didn’t notice the extra money I was sure I was dropping hints. But no, I worked once a week in a brothel for more than 18 months and it seems my partner had no idea.

And then one day, in the middle of a big blow up argument, about something unrelated and I can’t even remember what now, I yelled the words at him. “I DON’T CARE, I’VE BEEN A PROSTITUTE THE WHOLE TIME YOU’VE KNOWN ME”

I meant it as a cutting end to our argument, to our relationship, to my lies, and possibly to my job. I had thought about what would happen if he found out and I knew he’d be pretty pissed! I wouldn’t have been surprised if he put a hole in a nearby wall. But I screamed it at him and he just looked at me blankly and said “you are not!”

And so I told him everything. His calmness floored me, so my manner changed. I lost my anger and I felt guilt and sadness for hurting him. I explained myself, I consoled him, I explained myself some more, I apologised and, of course, I did the inevitable. I promised to stop working. We  talked and to my surprise  he was willing to forgive me, and I guess that made him even more appealing to me.

I quit my job, took up extra hours in my straight job, and moved in with him to save money. I felt like I gave up some of my independence  but I was ok about that. I kept it up for around 12 months but after a year of no sex work, and less flexibility in my other job, I was suffering financially. So was my partner, he had acquired an instant family to help support and we were all feeling the pinch. I had been faithful to my pledge to not do sex work, but we were struggling. It was on my mind, and I began making jokes about it. The bills would come in and he would be complaining so Id say, “one night in a brothel, I could clear them for us”, he would ignore me or give me an annoyed look. But neither of us could deny that money was tight and something had to give. I kept making my jokes, but I started throwing in extra sweeteners “we could even go on a holiday!”

“But honey, just think of what we could do!”

He still didn’t agree, but he seemed more open to the idea the more I kept bringing it up. One day he snapped at me “Oh for gods sake, you want to go back to work, just do it then”. I nearly squealed with excitement, but thought that might be an unhelpful reaction. So we sat and had a very open and long conversation about it. I asked him what his main concerns were. He said he trusts me, he knows it’s just work. I reminded him that he knows it wont effect our relationship, because I had already been doing it in the past and he didn’t even know. Eventually he confessed one of his biggest fears about me being a sex worker, was that I might fuck one of his friends or colleagues as a client, or I might be recognised and outed in public.

Jealousy is an awful emotion, and one that is difficult to control. Everyone experiences it differently and for different reasons. His fear seemed silly to me, but I was glad he was able to figure it out and communicate it to me. It meant that we could find a way for me to do sex work that he could live with. We decided that I would go away to work outside Adelaide, where it was unlikely I would see anyone either of us knew and where I could remain anonymous. So for the next 12 months I went away once a month to rural and regional South Australia for working weekends with friends.

And because I felt privileged to be able to go back to work with my partners blessing I used my money very wisely. I knew we were taking a risk in our relationship and I wanted to make it worth it. In 12 months, I managed to pay off our credit card debt and saved enough money to take us on that holiday I had suggested.

I used to joke that I was bribing my partner to “let me” work by paying for us to go to the Greek Islands, but it wasn’t actually like that. I did have to convince him to be ok with me going back to sex work, but we were a partnership, and I felt equal in that partnership, we had developed an arrangement that worked well for us, and sex work had become a part of that arrangement.

And it is hard to argue while holidaying in the beautiful Mediterranean summer!

sex work 101

Tags

brothels, clients, consent, disability, discrimination, friends and family, laws, Love, money, nursing, parenting, personal stories, rants, Relationships, safe sex, sex industry, Sex Work, sexuality, single mothers, south australia, stigma, the boss

Your beginners course in understanding my work. Written in the interests of answering the common questions and misconceptions and saving sex workers from having to deliver a sex work 101 class to every person they disclose to.

1. I have good sexual health. I know this because I get tested. I get tested twice a year and more if there have been any risks. Some workers go more often. I use condoms for oral and full sex, i do visual checks on my clients for STI’s, I use lots of lube and have access to a variety of sizes in condoms, I know my condoms are in date and stored properly, I put it on, I take it off, i regularly check the condom during sex to make sure it is in tact and in place and for all of these reasons, I rarely have a condom break or slip. I also use condoms on toys and on  fingers if they are to be inserted anywhere. Sex workers in this country are known to have better sexual health than the general public. We are professional about our sexual health.

2. Being raped or assaulted is not a part of my job. I have never been raped or hit during my sex wok job. When it happens to a sex worker it must be taken seriously and dealt with appropriately, not written off an inevitable part of the industry.

3. My clients come from all walks of life. There is no typical client. As long as they are clean and respectful, then I am happy to provide them a service. If they are not clean, I don’t mind waiting while they take a shower.

4. There is no typical sex worker, I know sex workers of all ages, I have a friend in her late 60’s and I know of even older. Fat or thin, tall or short, everyone can make money in the sex industry.

5. The sex I have at work is work. For me it is not comparable to the sex I have for pleasure or with a partner. That doesn’t mean I never enjoy it. Compare it to working in a childcare centre looking after other people’s kids all day, i might enjoy it and I might like those kids but it is very different to how feel when i care for my own child. It is just a service, an intimate service yes, but there are many jobs where people provide intimate services for money, such as childcare.

6. I’ve been known to partake in a recreational drug here and there but I do not have a drug habit to support, and I do not need to be wasted to work. Drug use is a characteristic of our industry, in that it’s slightly more accepted in some (not all – many try to distance themselves) workplaces. If drug use itself is higher in the sex industry than in other industries (say for example the nursing sector) then I offer the following explanations: Firstly,obviously the money in sex work is better. If you have a drug addiction to support or if your vice of choice is expensive, sex work is an attractive financial option. This is also true for big gamblers, shoppers, travellers, spenders, and those in debt. Secondly the flexibility of sex work makes it an attractive work option for those who don’t fit neatly into the mon to fri 9- 5, stay in your box and conform-or-else,  type jobs. What I mean is, as a sex worker you can work for yourself, you can work for boss, you can work a few hours or you can work a few days solid, you can work regularly or on and off, you can call in sick all the time and still have a job. This means that people who need some extra money to score today, and the people who can’t get stable work because their life is not stable, or those people who can’t work long shifts because they need to self medicate, or people who get sacked from ‘straight’ workplaces because they were found out for using their sick leave to detox, still have a job option. I’m not using this post to weigh in on the ‘drugs are bad mmmkay’ debate, but I will say, people who use drugs either recreationally or habitually, can and are, and should be encouraged to be productive members of our communities, and it is up to everyone to make that possible. The sex industry has managed to make that possible and I think that is why drug use is more visible in our industry.

7. I personally do not have a mental health diagnosis. I think that makes me the opposite of normal these days. My point is, you don’t have to be damaged or deluded to exchange sex for money. Getting paid for sex also doesn’t cause Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, depression or any other label. What can cause a whole array of mental health problems is ongoing stigma and discrimination, harassment, criminalisation and all its associated issues, unsafe workplaces, isolation, and any other number of life experiences and chemical reactions. There is nothing inherently damaging either physically, emotionally or mentally about getting paid for sex, though there are often factors associated with sex work that can cloud our experiences. And many sex workers do live with a mental illness and I doubt it is over represented in our industry. But like drugs, i think it is more accepted in our industry and the flexibility means that people with health considerations can find suitable work in the flexible sex industry, allowing them to manage their health and stay gainfully employed. Again, I think rather than giving our industry a hard time, other industries should be taking note. Stop with the exit strategies for sex workers,  how about “entering strategies” rolled out to the employers whose work conditions are so rigid ensuring they are not accessible to people with caring responsibilities, with health considerations and disabilities, or to people who use drugs, older people, people with less English skills, or students, people with gaps in their resume’s and people with criminal records, or to people who need extra help or people who just want some control of their own working lives. These are the benefits of the sex industry, not the negatives.

8. There are no Madame’s and Pimps. OK, well there are female brothel owners and we do call them Madame’s, but they are really just an employer. They don’t generally have any other special role in our lives, just like any employer and employee relationship.  And there are boyfriends/partners, drivers, drug dealers and runners, security and bosses. And maybe in other countries they are called pimps, but not in Australia. There people in abusive relationships who are being pressured to work when they don’t want to on in ways they don’t want to. But that is domestic violence, not pimping. The reality in Adelaide is that there are lots of brothels and lots of bosses, some are good and some are bad but there is even more sex workers who work for themselves or in small collectives who have total control.

9. Yes the money is good, but not ridiculous. It used to be much better but an increase in the industry and a decrease in disposable income has meant it is not the gold mine i once felt like (or maybe I’m jut getting older 😉 ). Adelaide sex workers are among the cheapest sex workers in Australia. A mixture of different services offered by different workers, no labour rights or baseline wages in force, competitive market and vastly varying overheads make it difficult to negotiate pay rises across the industry or individually. When I first started sex work 20 years ago the average rate for an hour ‘fully inclusive’ session in a Adelaide brothel was $110 – 160 and about 5 years ago we had our first big price hike and now the going rate is about $160 – $240 for an hour. The sex worker generally gets about 50 – 60%. Keep in mind that most brothels also offer half hour or shorter services (I once worked in a brothel where I got paid $25 fr a quick fuck! needless to say I didn’t stay there long)and will provide discounts for longer bookings, some take shift fees or other cuts, and many sex workers offer ‘extras’ for extra cost or provide a different service for a different cost, private workers set their own prices based on overheads, services, commercial factors and their style of doing business. Give or take a few tips and noshows and there is no way I could give you any kind of average earning.  I can tell you that if I work for an 8 hour shift in a brothel I would expect to earn between $200 and $500 but depending on the business, the time of day/year, the number of workers on shift, the price of service and cut I got, and a massive range of other factors, including luck, it would not be unusual for a sex worker in Adelaide to leave an 8 hour shift with anywhere between zero and thousands.

10. I currently do pay tax on my sex work income. I have to if I want to participate in the world of house and car loans, or any other significant financial transactions. I haven’t always paid tax on my sex work income because I feel it is unfair to take my tax money but afford me no rights in return. Infact the opposite, I pay tax on my income but my assets can be confiscated as ‘proceeds of crime’, my cash could have me charged with ‘illegal possession’, my business could be closed down at any point and my livelihood gone, without compensation, my health and home and professional insurance is not valid due to my illegal activity. But regardless of any of that, if I want to spend my money, I have to declare it. And many other sex workers and sex industry businesses are in the same boat. The glaring contradiction comes from the fact that a) The Australian Tax Office doesn’t care how you make your money as long as you pay tax on it, in one of their staffers words ‘even a hit man can declare their income and claim their expenses’ and b) Australia’s tax system is a national system and our sex work laws are state based and every other state has some form of legal sex work. Now ofcourse, being a cash based industry, I’m sure not every cent is declared, and being very good at evading authority and remaining undetected, I’m sure not all brothels are paying tax, and why should they until their business’s are deemed legitimate. But the truth is that three things in life are inevitable – your born, you pay taxes and you die.

How to spot a hooker

Tags

clients, discrimination, feminism, friends and family, Love, parenting, personal stories, rants, Relationships, sex industry, Sex Work, single mothers, south australia, stigma, whore shame

Have you ever met a sex worker? Shall we do the math?  Lets say there is 1000 sex workers in South Australia working in any one year and 85% of them are female (an estimate shared by the SA Police, the local sex workers health organisation SIN and quoted in the media). That would mean 850 women have done sex work in any one year in SA. In June 2010 South Australia had 1.09 million people of working age between 15 and 64 years old (from the Australian Bureau of statistics) and roughly half of them (545 000) were women. Using these statistics 1 in 640 working aged South Australian Women have done sex work this year alone.

Now lets say their average length of time in the industry is 10 years (It was more like 5 years in research done with Australian sex workers in 1991 by Roberta Perkins some of which is published here and in a book called Working Girls) and your working life lasts 50 years (based on the ABS age range used above) I could take a leap and say that over a 10 year period all the current sex workers have left and a new 850 have entered (overall, on average, generally, based on these estimates). My sketchy brain (and dodgy calculator) work that out to mean that 1 in 65 South Australian women will do sex work at one point in their life.

Does this math add up? That seems like a lot! And I am using conservative figures. Any way you look at it, it’s a good proportion. Someone pull my math apart, because I just sent my brain into a gooey mess.

And while we wait for the judges to get back to us, I’ll tell you why I wouldn’t actually be surprised if my guess was close to accurate.

You may think you have never met a hooker (except the one you paid maybe) but a lot of my friends, family, lovers and even partners have thought they never met a hooker either. You see, most of us sex workers don’t wear a sign on our head, we don’t have a red light on our house and we don’t advertise our identifying details on a billboard.

Many of us hide our work from some, or most, or all the people we know and meet or maybe we just hide it just from you!

Many of us are only sex workers when we are at work. The rest of the time we are people’s friends and family members and community members. Maybe yours.

Some of us may want to suss you out before we make ourselves vulnerable by sharing our secret. It’s not that we are ashamed, but maybe we have reasons to hide from the discrimination. Maybe we are testing your values and your trustworthiness first to make sure our secret life is safe with you.

Some of us have detailed cover stories so when strangers ask about our work we easily talk about our job in telephone sales, converting stories about our clients into a story about an interesting call we took at work. Maybe we can’t be bothered doing a sexwork 101 class right now, or maybe we’re saving you the embarrassment that we suspect our disclosure would elicit.

Some sex workers will never tell a soul, taking their secrets to the grave. The only people knowing are other sex workers and their clients. They have decided that the risk is not worth it. Perhaps they are a student who is scared about jeopardising their future career, a single mum who is only working for a few years to set herself up. For many of us, sex work is just a job that is meeting our needs. Sometimes its only a temporary plan and we decide that coming out and fighting the stigma for the sake of a short term job is just not worth it.

I feel privileged to receive emails from people sharing their own experiences of sex work with me, stories that they have never told anyone else. If you have never met a sex worker, you are missing out.

I had a partner for three years and I never told him that I was a part-time sex worker. I guess the thought of me in that line of work never occurred to him, because he never suspected. I didn’t find it difficult, I just went to work as per normal, did my job and came home. He even met other sex workers who I worked with, but he presumed they were co workers from my “straight” job. It wasn’t a big deal to me, and I didn’t want to make it a big deal to us so I kept it to myself.

If a client complains about the lack of sexual attention they receive from their wives or girlfriends I will often make the joke “maybe she is just too tired from working at the brothel all day”. Everytime he will laugh heartily assuring me that for whatever reason this is a ridiculous suggestion. And I giggle as I respond with “yup, that’s what my partner thinks about me too”. Then I sit back and watch them consider my words.

Have you ever met a hooker? Maybe you’re married to one, or maybe your mum is one. Maybe one of the people in your class is a hooker, or maybe your best friend has done sex work. Maybe the person on the bus, or at the party, or your mates partner or family member or the person that helps out at the canteen or maybe even your child has done sex work. If my maths is right, its likely nearly everyone has met a sex worker at some point. Some of you might love one.

Maybe we havent told you because we don’t trust you. Or maybe we trust you, but we don’t know if we will be able to trust you next week. Or maybe we don’t trust your friends.

But  mostly we don’t know who we can trust.

Don’t let your friend or loved one be the ones who dies with their secrets. Or the one who emails a stranger with their amazing stories but can’t tell anyone in their lives.

If you want to spot a hooker:

Don’t presume you are not talking to a sex worker when you make that nasty comment about us.

Don’t presume there are no sex workers in the room feeling uncomfortable or unsafe when you pass judgement about us.

Don’t presume that you are not talking about someones loved one or family member when you discuss stereotypes and misconceptions about sex workers.

We are not just in the brothels, we are everywhere. Perhaps even in your home.

Don’t fail our test.

If you haven’t heard stories like mine before, you haven’t been asking the right questions.

Mother and a Whore

Tags

discrimination, feminism, friends and family, Love, mother blame, parenting, personal stories, rants, Relationships, Sex Work, single mothers, stigma, whore shame

I also wanted to title this post:  Wont somebody think of the children!!

There will sometimes come a time in a persons life when they fall in love and ‘settle down’. And I quickly realised that for a lot of people ‘settle down’ means I am expected to stop sex work and find something else to do to make money and fill my time. So when I met and started dating  Jack I knew it was just a matter of time before he voiced a problem with my job. Things got serious and we moved in together and sure enough it wasn’t long before Jack told me that he loved me so much that I had to find a new job. I had been through this before and so I pretty much gave in to his insecurities straight away. I stopped sex work and started applying for ‘straight work’.

Skipping through the long and not very interesting story, Jack and I had babies, fell out of love and separated.  I immediately went straight back to sex work. It was a choice. Yes it was a choice made by a single mother, but it was my choice just the same. I reduced the hours I was working in my ‘straight job’ and started back working for a local escort agency while my kids were either at school, childcare or at their fathers. Instantly I felt the judgemental double sting of mother blaming joined with whore shaming. Those who always knew and supported my choice to do sex work, had a different opinion now that I was a mother. There are people who believe that being a sex worker automatically makes me a bad mother. Maybe even the readers of this blog have questions. So in order to continue telling you my stories I thought I should get these questions out of the way – upfront.

What will you tell your child?

How would you feel if your daughter turned out to be a hooker?

What happens when your son finds out you fuck for money?

What will their friends think of them at school?

Im going to answer these questions here and now, once and for all, in response to all those well meaning people who seem to struggle to get their head around me, my work, my relationships, and my family. I may follow this post up with answers to other popular questions such as “Is there a difference between sex work and ‘real sex’”  “how can you ask me to be faithful when you’re fucking all those other men?” “do you have any self respect?” and my favourite usually asked at completely inappropriate social functions…..“will you fuck me if I pay you for it? What about your friend?”.

But for now im going to start with the ones that I find most offensive, and that’s the ones that involve my motherhood.

What will I tell my child?

I, like other working mums, tell my child age appropriate information that describes what mum does for a job. Unfortunately, I have to be careful, because I don’t want my little tacker running off to school ruining his social calendar for his entire school life because he told Tommy who told his mum that his best friend’s mum is a hooker. So I choose my words carefully. Mum works at a massage centre. At a young age they don’t know enough about the world to say much more than that anyway.  When they get a little bit older and the conversation comes up or when they ask, I might say something more like: mum gives sexy massages. Over the years each time the topic comes up I will tell them a little bit more. After all I don’t see this as any different to what I vet might say… “I fix animals when they are sick” The vet doesn’t say to her 4 year old that sometimes she has remove a uterus or cut off testicles or give lethal injections to cute kittens etc. There is no need for that child to know the finer details yet, but as they get older, they will be given more information. No different to my plan, except of course I have to deal with the fact everyone else thinks im a bad person. So at some point I have what I see as a harder discussion. Those are the discussions about what everyone else thinks of my job. These are discussions that are hard and hurtful to my family.

How would I feel if my daughter became a hooker?

I hope my children grow up to be happy, healthy and respectful adults. That’s all I wish for them. I know for a fact that being a hooker doesn’t mean you can’t be happy, healthy and respectful. However I do know that everyone else’s attitudes to sex work can create barriers to a sex worker being happy. But I feel those are my children’s choices to make. If being a hooker made my daughter or son happy, I would not have any concerns. What would hurt my son or daughter and our family, all sex workers and their families, is the attitude everyone else has to sex work and sex workers.

What happens when my son finds out I fuck for money?

To be honest I can’t imagine my children using those words with me. I do expect there will be some words about my job thrown at me during different phases of rebellion as I imagine most parents deal with..…even non whores. If I try to be honest with them, my children will grow up respecting me and sex workers. It is possible that the attitudes of other people may encourage resentment in my kids towards me or my work, but if that ever happens I am confident that once they move through the rebellion phase they will again see that my job was a positive thing for our family, that it was just a job and that the rest of the world is unfair in its discrimination of me and my work.

What will their friends think of them at school?

This is an area that I have no control over. It is an area that I have the most sadness about and the area I wish my kids didn’t have to deal with. However I don’t see other people’s attitudes as my fault. My kids have never suffered because of my work, to the contrary, they have a happy, healthy respectful mum who has a well paying flexible job that allows me to be the sort of mother I always wanted to be. In my own way I try to educate people to see sex work as work, nothing more or less than a job. Once again I see other people’s stigma and discrimination about sex workers as the only innate problem of my work. It all comes down to what other people think. It means I have to have conversations with my kids about being careful about who exactly they say what to and about other people’s bad attitude. I might even have to teach them to lie so they can protect themselves from your stigma.

It is because of other people’s ignorance that my children may suffer. Not because I am a sex worker.

You feel sorry for my kids? Do something about it and examine your own discriminatory attitudes.