This guy knew I was a נערת ליווי נתניה sex worker. It says so, right in my own Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore. He’d even commented onto it, using the language 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 just like a tonne of bricks.
“That’s a lot,” he explained, and then he 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 actuality 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 online sites providers for what feels as though hours.
It’s not common that the physical and emotional experiences we’ve at the office will be enough to replace with a possible not enough intimate connection within our lives beyond 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 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’d introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, “This really is Kate…” the silence that hung girl4escort in the area where, “…my girlfriend,” should have now been weighed a tonne.
I don’t believe he personally had a problem with me being a sex worker, but I do believe that the chance of other people 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 romantic 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 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 as soon as 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. In addition, I’m a hooker. Pass the salt?”
The ultimate dream scenario is that my date is supportive, and happy that I’ve found a line of work that I enjoy and supports me financially. Unfortunately, it has only happened once – once! – so these days, I find that a lot of responses fall somewhere between 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? 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 is better than 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 if I’m sure I’m not really a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.
“That’s all perfectly and good,” one man said, over coffee, “But obviously if you went 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 to that idea, I wanted to sneer.
Obviously, even the crudest type of 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 have 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 appear 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 than the chance of physical violence from a romantic partner. I once proceeded a romantic date with a person who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex with out a condom, and then read among my own articles, about sex work, aloud in my experience as I lay silently alongside him.
Dating isn’t possible for anyone. Even the act of getting to distil your whole person into a quick and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app will do to produce anyone wish to throw up their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.
Still, I rely on love, and I know 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 easy, stress-free nature of transactional sex. An hour or so 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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