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worker money

por Joie Kitson (2019-06-17)


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 about it, using the language every woman longs to hear 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 fact of my profession came crashing down around him just like a tonne of bricks.

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

It often 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 real life 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 internet service providers for what feels like hours.

It's not common that the physical and נערת ליווי חיפה emotional experiences we've at work would be enough to replace a potential lack of intimate connection in our lives beyond work; so many of us also date, with varied quantities of success.

A few months ago, 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 did actually change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "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 trouble with me being truly a sex worker, but I do think that the possibility of others judging me – and then judging him if you are 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 current 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 have the talk?"

The talk in which I clarify my job, re-explain my profession 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 as soon as 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. 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, this has only happened once – once! – so these days, I find that most responses fall approximately abject fascination and outright objectification.

Sometimes I end on the receiving end of a thousand 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 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 frequently I get my sexual health checks done and שירותי ליווי חיפה 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 in the event that you sought out with me, you'd have to acquire a real job. And you couldn't tell anyone we all know that you used to work." You must probably Google me before you obtain too attached to that particular idea, I desired to sneer.

Obviously, even the crudest distinct questioning is just a better case scenario than the very real threat of violence that lots of 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 others who've had partners show up 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 the chance of physical violence from an intimate partner. I once continued a romantic date with a person who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex without a condom, and then read among my own articles, about sex work, aloud to me as I lay silently close to him.

Dating isn't easy for anyone. Even the act of experiencing to distil your whole person into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app will do to create anyone wish to provide 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 days when it's all an excessive amount of, I find myself thankful for the straightforward, stress-free nature of transactional sex. One hour on the clock and a peck on the cheek to say a fond goodbye until next time: if perhaps finding love was as simple.

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