by on 18 April, 2019
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This person knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right within my Bumble profile: דירה דיסקרטיות retired media whore, current actual whore. He had even commented onto it, using what every woman longs to know 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 such as for instance a tonne of bricks.
"That is a lot," he said, and then he 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 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 have dinner with our families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with this online sites providers for what is like hours.
It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at the office would be enough to replace with a possible insufficient 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 connection with a person I have been seeing for almost two years. In private, he was a huge supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune did actually change. He'd introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "This really is Kate..." the silence that hung in the area where, "...my girlfriend," should have now been weighed a tonne.
I don't think that he personally had a problem with me being fully a sex worker, but I actually do feel that the chance of others judging me – and then judging him for being with me – was enough to make 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 such things as, "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, דירות דיסקרטיות forgot what it said, or – worse – thought it absolutely was a joke. Do I tell him when we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out at random over the span of the evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. By the way, I'm a hooker. Pass the salt?"
The ultimate dream scenario is that my date is supportive, and happy that I've found a type of work that I like and supports me financially. Unfortunately, it's only happened once – once! – so today, I find that most responses fall somewhere within 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 inventors 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 just a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.
"That's all perfectly and good," one man said, over coffee, "But obviously if 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 need to probably Google me before you obtain too attached compared to that 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 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'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's better than the chance of physical violence from a romantic partner. I once proceeded a romantic date with a man who invited me as much as his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex with out a condom, and then read certainly one of my very own articles, about sex work, out loud if you ask me as I lay silently next to him.
Dating isn't easy for anyone. Even the act of having to distil your entire person directly into a brief and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app will do to produce anyone desire 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 a lot of, I find myself thankful for דירות דיסקרטיות 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 occasion: only if finding love was as simple.
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