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worker money

por Sergio Boisvert (2019-06-18)


He knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right in my Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore. He'd even commented about it, using the language every woman longs to listen to from a romantic interest:'Haha, nice ;) '. And yet I watched as his face contorted in to 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 is clearly a lot," he said, and he then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.

It often surprises people to listen to 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've dinner with this families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with your websites providers for what feels like hours.

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

A couple of months ago, נערות ליווי באשדוד I ended a connection with a person 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 seemed to change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "This is Kate..." the silence that hung in the space where, "...my girlfriend," should have now been weighed a tonne.

I don't genuinely believe that he personally had a trouble with me being truly a sex worker, but I do genuinely believe that the possibility of others judging me – and then judging him if you are with me – was enough to make 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 things such 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 the moment we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out at random on the course of the evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. In addition, 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 enjoy and נערות ליווי באשדוד 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 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 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 an hour.

Other times, my date can barely contain their disgust, quizzing me over and once again about how precisely 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 very well and good," one man said, over coffee, "But obviously if you sought out with me, you'd have to obtain a real job. And you couldn't tell anyone we know that you used to work." You should probably Google me before you obtain too attached to that idea, I desired to sneer.

Obviously, even the crudest type of questioning is just a better case scenario than the 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 understand why their date with a sex worker didn't end with a romp, and others who have had partners show up at their work in a spontaneous fit of jealousy, viciously demanding they empty their locker and return home with them immediately.

And even that is better than the likelihood of physical violence from a romantic partner. I once went on a date with a man who invited me as much as his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex with no condom, and then read among my own articles, about sex work, aloud in my experience as I lay silently next to him.

Dating isn't possible for anyone. Even the act of experiencing to distil your complete person into a short and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app is sufficient to create anyone want to purge their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.

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

On the times when it's all a lot of, I find myself thankful for the straightforward, stress-free nature of transactional sex. An hour or so on the clock and a peck on the cheek to express a fond goodbye until next time: if only finding love was as simple.

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