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girl for work

"Maryann Sturgill" (2018-07-25)


This person knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right in my Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore. He had even commented about it, using the words every woman longs to know from a romantic interest:'Haha, nice ;) '. And yet I watched as his face contorted into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the reality of my profession came crashing down around him like a tonne of bricks.

"That is a lot," he said, and he then rolled 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 all sorts 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've dinner with this families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with our websites providers for what feels as though hours.

It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at the office would be enough to replace a potential lack of intimate connection in our lives outside work; so most of us also date, with varied levels of success.

A few months ago, I ended a relationship with a person I have been girl4escort seeing for almost two years. In private, he was a massive 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, "This is Kate..." the silence that hung in the area where, "...my girlfriend," should have been weighed a tonne.

I don't believe he personally had a trouble with me being truly a sex worker, but I actually do think that the chance of other people 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 current usual questions one ponders before a romantic date (What do I wear? Where shall we go?) I find myself asking things such as, "At what point do we have the talk?"

The talk by which I clarify my job, re-explain my profession just in case my date didn't read my Bumble bio, forgot what it said, or – worse – thought it had been a joke. Do I tell him the moment we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out randomly over the length of the girl4escort evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. By the way, I'm a hooker. Pass the salt?"

The best dream scenario is that my date is supportive, and happy that I've found a line of work that I love and supports me financially. Unfortunately, it's only happened once – once! – so these days, I find that many responses fall somewhere between abject fascination and outright objectification.

Sometimes I end on the receiving end of a lot of rapid-fire questions ("What's the weirdest thing you've ever done at the job? Maybe you have had a celebrity client? Are the people all old and ugly? They're not, like, normal guys like me, are they?") which is better than horrified silence, but leaves me feeling like I've just been interviewed for an hour.

Other times, my date can barely contain their disgust, quizzing me over and once again about how frequently I get my sexual health checks done and if I'm sure I'm not just a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.

"That's all very well and good," one man said, over coffee, "But obviously in the event that you sought out with me, you'd have to acquire a real job. And you couldn't tell anyone we know that you used to work." You ought to probably Google me before you obtain too attached to that particular idea, I desired to sneer.

Of course, even the crudest type of questioning is just a better case scenario compared to very real threat of violence that lots of sex workers face when speaking about their job. I've friends who have 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've had partners appear at their work in a spontaneous fit of jealousy, viciously demanding they empty their locker and return home using them immediately.

And even that is better than the chance of physical violence from an intimate partner. I once proceeded a romantic date with a man who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex without a condom, and then read one of my own articles, about sex work, out loud to me as I lay silently next to him.

Dating isn't possible for anyone. Even the act of getting to distil your complete person directly into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app will do to create anyone want to throw up their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.

Still, I rely on love, and I understand from past experiences that relationships – when they're good – are worth every struggle.

On the times when it's all an excessive amount of, I find myself thankful for the straightforward, 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: if only finding love was as simple.

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