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worker money

Freya Pickett (2019-06-16)

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This person knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right within my Bumble profile: שירותי ליווי ברמת גן retired media whore, current actual whore. He had even commented about it, using the language every woman longs to listen to from the romantic interest:'Haha, nice ;) '. And yet I watched as his face contorted directly into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the truth 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 listen to that sex workers do a variety 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 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've at the office could be enough to make up for a potential lack of intimate connection inside our lives outside work; so most of us also date, with varied levels of success.

A couple of months ago, I ended a relationship with a man I had been seeing for pretty much two years. In private, he was a massive supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune seemed to change. He'd introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "This is Kate..." the silence that hung in the room where, "...my girlfriend," should have already been weighed a tonne.

I don't believe that he personally had a trouble with me being a sex worker, but I do think that the likelihood of other people judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to create 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 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 was a joke. Do I tell him when we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out at random within the course of the evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. By the way, 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's only happened once – once! – so nowadays, I find that a lot of responses fall approximately 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 job? Have you ever had a celebrity client? Are the guys all old and ugly? They're not, like, normal guys like me, are they?") which is preferable to 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 a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.

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

Needless to say, even the crudest type of 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'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 girl4escort others who've had partners arrive 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 preferable to the chance of physical violence from a romantic partner. I once continued a date with a man who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex without a condom, and then read among my own, personal articles, about sex work, out loud to me as I lay silently close to him.

Dating isn't simple for anyone. Even the act of having to distil your whole person into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app is enough to make anyone desire to provide their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.

Still, I believe in love, and I know from past experiences that relationships – when they're good – are worth every struggle.

On the days when it's all a lot 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 say a fond goodbye until the next time: if only finding love was as simple.

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