girl for work
He knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right within my Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore. He’d even commented onto it, using what every woman longs to know from a romantic interest:’Haha, נערות ליווי nice 😉 ‘. And yet I watched as his face contorted into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the fact of my profession came crashing down around him just like a tonne of bricks.
“That’s a lot,” he explained, and then he rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn’t hear from him again.
It sometimes surprises people to hear that sex workers do a number of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in the real world after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we have dinner with your families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with this online sites providers for what feels like hours.
It’s not common that the physical and emotional experiences we’ve at the office would be enough to make up for a possible insufficient intimate connection in our lives outside of work; so many of us also date, with varied quantities of success.
A few months ago, I ended a connection with a man I had been seeing for nearly two years. In private, he was an enormous supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune appeared to change. He’d introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he said, “That is Kate…” the silence that hung in the space where, “…my girlfriend,” should have now been weighed a tonne.
I don’t believe that he personally had a trouble with me being a sex worker, but I do believe that the likelihood of other folks judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to produce him want to keep me a secret.
So I’ve recently downloaded some dating apps and put myself back on the proverbial market, but it’s tough. Along with all the usual questions one ponders before a romantic date (What do I wear? Where shall we go?) I find myself asking such things as, “At what point do we have the talk?”
The talk where I clarify my job, re-explain my profession in the event my date didn’t read my Bumble bio, forgot what it said, or – worse – thought it was a joke. Do I tell him as soon as we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out randomly over the course of the evening: “Wow, this wine is delicious. Incidentally, I’m a hooker. Pass the salt?”
The greatest dream scenario is that my date is supportive, and happy that I’ve found a type of work that I love and supports me financially. Unfortunately, it has only happened once – once! – so nowadays, I find that a lot of responses fall somewhere between abject fascination and outright objectification.
Sometimes I end through to the receiving end of a lot of rapid-fire questions (“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done at the office? Have you ever had a celebrity client? Are the people all old and ugly? They’re not, like, normal guys like me, are they?”) which surpasses horrified silence, but leaves me feeling like I’ve just been interviewed for נערות ליווי an hour.
Other times, my date can barely contain their disgust, quizzing me over and once more about how frequently I get my sexual health checks done and if I’m sure I’m not really a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.
“That’s all perfectly and good,” one man said, over coffee, “But obviously if you went out with me, you’d have to get a real job. And you couldn’t tell anyone we all know that you used to work.” You need to probably Google me before you obtain too attached to that particular idea, I desired to sneer.
Obviously, even the crudest distinct questioning is really a better case scenario compared to very real threat of violence that many sex workers face when speaking about their job. I’ve friends who’ve been followed home and stalked by men who couldn’t realize why their date with a sex worker didn’t end with a romp, and others who have had partners appear at their work in a spontaneous fit of jealousy, viciously demanding they empty their locker and return home with them immediately.
And even that’s better the likelihood of physical violence from an intimate partner. I once continued a date with a person who invited me up to his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex with no condom, and then read among my very own articles, about sex work, out loud in my experience as I lay silently alongside him.
Dating isn’t simple for anyone. Even the act of getting to distil your entire person into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app is enough to make anyone wish to provide their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.
Still, I rely on love, and I know from past experiences that relationships – when they’re good – are worth every struggle.
On the days when it’s all too much, I find myself thankful for the easy, stress-free nature of transactional sex. An hour on the clock and a peck on the cheek to state a fond goodbye until the next time: only if finding love was as simple.
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