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girl for work

"Christal Halloran" (2018-07-15)


This person 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 listen to from the 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 such as a tonne of bricks.

"That is a lot," he explained, and then he rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.

It often surprises people to hear that sex workers do a variety of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in actuality after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we've dinner with your families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with our internet service providers for what feels as though hours.

It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we have at work will be enough to replace with a possible not enough intimate connection in our lives outside work; so many of us also date, with varied degrees of success.

A couple of months ago, I ended a relationship with a person I have been seeing for pretty much two years. In private, he was an enormous supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune did actually change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he said, "This really is Kate..." the silence that hung in the space where, "...my girlfriend," should have now been weighed a tonne.

I don't believe he personally had a problem with me being fully a sex worker, but I actually do think that the likelihood of others judging me – and then judging him נערות ליווי to be with me – was enough to create him want to help 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 the usual questions one ponders before a date (What do I wear? Where shall we go?) I find myself asking things like, "At what point do we've 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 absolutely was a joke. Do I tell him as soon as we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out at random within the span of the evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. Incidentally, I'm a hooker. Pass the salt?"

The best 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 within abject fascination and outright objectification.

Sometimes I end up on the receiving end of one thousand rapid-fire questions ("What's the weirdest thing you've ever done at work? Maybe you have had a celebrity client? Are the inventors 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 an hour.

Other times, my date can barely contain their disgust, quizzing me over and over again about how exactly 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 perfectly and good," one man said, over coffee, "But obviously in the event that you sought out with me, you'd have to get a real job. And you couldn't tell anyone we realize that you used to work." You should probably Google me before you get too attached to that particular idea, I wanted to sneer.

Of course, even the crudest distinct questioning is really a better case scenario compared to the very real threat of violence that numerous sex workers face when speaking about their job. I have friends who have been followed home and stalked by men who couldn't understand just why their date with a sex worker didn't end with a romp, and others who have had partners arrive at their work in a spontaneous fit of jealousy, viciously demanding they empty their locker and return home together immediately.

And even that is better the chance of physical violence from an intimate partner. I once continued a date with a person who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex נערות ליווי without a condom, and then read one of my own, personal 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 having to distil your complete person into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app is enough to produce anyone want to purge their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.

Still, I believe in 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 express a fond goodbye until the next occasion: if only finding love was as simple.

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