Recently, just after the Christmas holidays, I was scheduled to see a new client, who has lately become a favorite of mine after three sessions together. However, I had to cancel what would’ve been our fourth session – for the worst of possible reasons. I had my period!
Suffering from menstrual cramps all day, I was forced to rest and it made me do some soul searching about my newfound vocation. Why am I a sex worker? Why do I do what I do? Most people don’t have this kind of work problem, losing some of their income stream because of a biological inconvenience.
And I was genuinely upset because I really wanted this session for more than just the money. I’ve really taken a liking to this guy because he isn’t at all your typical client. He always starts by pleasuring me, because he says he wants me to be sexually fulfilled too and it should not be entirely about his pleasure. I love that sentiment. And it helps that he has a lovely cock, just the right size for my mouth; even when I deep-throat him, my gag reflex doesn’t act up.
He treats me so lovingly that I don’t mind doing very intimate things with him, like letting him stroke my hair when his cock is firmly in my mouth and he likes to end by kissing me on the lips and also enjoys rimming me. (He says licking someone’s asshole is a very intimate thing to do, and I always squirm with pleasure when he’s doing it to me.)
And well, why not? I believe that we as sex workers have every reason to be treated well. Some clients from my recent past have been disappointing. I really dislike the men who openly compare me to other girls they’ve been seeing, right to my face and right after we’ve finished, too – I mean, how disrespectful is that? It’s so belittling and makes me feel small, like I’d just had sex with their egos.
It’s so rare to find someone who puts my pleasure before his own. This new guy has told me countless times that he worships my vagina, even though we both know he’s paying for the pleasure. Yes, I know I am in the business of “retail vagina,” as one writer put it (sure, it sounds funny but it’s frankly true) and so I always make sure my pussy is clean, my mound is nicely trimmed, and it all smells good. Some of us are actually proud to be sex workers and I am one of them.
I know I exemplify this by looking my very best (even when my job calls for me ultimately to be naked!) and even when I’m dressed for outcall at hotels, I’ll always wear a skirt but with no panties. I’ll wear a bra but never anything below my navel — it’s a way of advertising my sexuality, of declaring to the world that I am sexually available. I get a secret kick from this, though I have found myself feeling embarrassed a few times — when I’m in public and suddenly dripping wet!
Several things prepared me for this life. One was when I was 18 and learned to give hand jobs by practising on my godmother who is a pre-op transsexual (born a genetic male). I actually found it easy to comply and it made me consider how I might’ve liked it better had I been born a boy, because I do have a boy’s mentality when it comes to sex. I can disassociate sex from love.
And don’t get me started about penis envy — I can stare at a nice penis for a long time, and holding one in my hand is a special treat. I love how it’s like an extension of my body when I am bringing a client to orgasm (stroking away like a slave to the rhythm, like I own his cock!) and my new favorite client loves this being done to him. It’s a form of energy exchange, and we are both finely attuned to the meshing of each other’s sexual energies. It’s always harder for me to enjoy a person’s energy if they’re there just for their own satisfaction.
I find that in my line of work, we often have to be therapists — to not only listen to our clients’ problems and issues but ensure this works in tandem with the “real” job of offering sexual satisfaction. What I do justifies what a client pays for, when they hire a skilled provider like me. People outside the sex industry often forget how sex work isn’t always only about sex.
The ideal situation occurs when things are naturally in sync, like with my new favorite client. We always meet in hotel rooms, and I think of how the word “paradise” comes from old Persian (“pairi-daeza” which literally means “enclosed space”). I love knowing that doing outcall means I am there to recreate for him his personal paradise. This gives value to my work and, as sentimental as it sounds, meaning to my life.