Alternative title: From the outside to the inside – I’ll never be the same and that’s a good thing.
I am a college student. I have been one for a long, long time. I’ve been told I should try sex work. I would be open to it if I could get hard without being turned on. Plus, I get stage fright. I guess I am open to certain, very specific scenarios that I won’t ever find because I don’t have the time to seek them out (but the word is out with certain extremely competent Dom friends). So, I am a student for real, but I identify with whores. In another year, with a little luck and a shitload of work, some people will call me “Doctor.” My most recent stint began with a move across the country to a state I had never seen before. In fact, the first time I saw this state was from the driver’s seat of my U-Haul. I was moving to a town in which I didn’t know a single soul. All my friends said “Wow. Well, that place will be quite a bit different than here.” They couldn’t have been more correct. For all the shit we “Americans” get about how we supposedly all live—like we are all characters from Friends—our country is made of regions that might as well be different countries. My new town caused me culture shock that lasted for a couple of months. It was prolonged because I managed to talk a girl into driving out with me. I never intended for this to happen, but she ended up stayed for a month and a half before heading back to the other coast—which delayed my entire adjustment process. I was now all alone in a very strange place.
Like many other lonely people, I started cruising Craigslist. I found an ad that struck me in a way I couldn’t ignore. Since I was in my late 20s and good looking, it never occurred to me to check out the Casual Encounters section. Basically, I knew nothing at all about the sex industry. Well, not exactly nothing. I knew that I loved porn. In fact, it was a major source of friction with a previous girlfriend. In short, I stood up for my porn. At one point, my girlfriend said I had to choose between her and porn. I tried to tell her that was like choosing between air and water, but she didn’t understand. It ended up being more like choosing between air and a really fast car that broke down all the time. I am rambling now and that is another story.
I also had some minimal knowledge of strip clubs. However, they made me fairly uncomfortable and the drinks were way too much money. But, the dancers were hot and looked like they were having fun and many of them made their way into my memory—filed under “spanking material.”
At the time, sex work was not something I thought about a lot. I did believe a lot of the misinformation distributed by the media—but never gave it enough thought to discredit it. My mother was a second wave feminist, so I also had a bit of guilt about all my porn consumption (although the naughtiness of it was a big turn-on). BUT. I did know there had to be another side to the story. If sex work was so bad, why were so many girls and guys doing it? With the internet, I could see 40 different girls per session and not see the same girl twice in several months. Also, the girls at the strip club really did seem to enjoy themselves.
So, back to my new strange town and this Craigslist ad. The ad began like many other W4M ads—a checklist of requirements for the applicant. Oddly enough, I honestly met all of the requirements of this ad. Then, and this is what blew my mind, the ad described its author: Confident, attractive, intelligent, new to the area, and (I quote) “a vegetarian, so I taste good.” The woman was looking for “clean boys for dirty fun.” The woman also mentioned she traveled a lot and was very independent, so was not looking for a boyfriend. The ad was extremely well-written, it used proper grammar, and I could just tell the author was quite intelligent.
Holy Jesus! It was perfect. It was also one of the first times I actually responded to an online personal. I just had to meet this woman! I ruled out the possibility of her being a spammer—she mentioned the town by name in the ad AND it was way too witty and original to be a fake.
It took about an hour for me to write the response. I really had to give this my best shot since, I was certain she probably got about 3,000 responses.
By the next morning, there was a reply! The reply was also intelligent and interesting. It also came with a picture. The picture was obviously professionally done. This woman was beautiful! We exchanged a few more emails and decided to meet each other.
When we met, I was nervous and there was no denying it or hiding it. I hadn’t felt like that since early in high school (the wall-flower days before I learned how to be confident—or apathetic, depending on the situation). Occasionally, a pretty girl can intimidate me, but usually I can hide it. This time, I could not hide it. This girl was not only beautiful, but her emails were incredibly witty and interesting. Now, I was finally seeing her in person and she was even better looking than her pictures (on a side note, she has since met better photographers and her pictures now approach her actual beauty). She smiled and I melted. So genuine and beautiful! I didn’t know what else to do, so I asked what she would like to drink and her request happened to be my usual drink. Wow.
Luckily, by the time those drinks were half gone, my nervousness was entirely gone. This girl was also a very skilled conversationalist—possibly even better than my father’s barber. We talked for a couple of hours and a few more drinks. Before long, it felt like I knew her for years. It really struck me how well developed her political and social ideas were—she was extremely radical, but to say her views were logical and well-supported is a tremendous understatement. Her radicalism was genuine. People who parrot radical ideas to impress other people piss me off. It takes passion to know how to support radical ideas and even more rare is the commitment and selflessness necessary to spread those ideas and make them seem like common sense. People who have this passion and commitment are able to spot their own kind—they have to. It is necessary because they are small in number, but through meeting and collaborating with each other, their ability to make change expands exponentially (I see this happening on BNG).
We talked about a very wide range of issues in a conversation that flowed very naturally. It was obvious we shared a lot of common ideals—mostly clustered around social justice and freedom of opportunity for marginalized groups.
One question was still rattling around in my head. This person was so articulate and honest, but three hours of intense political conversation and personal history had gone by and I still did not know how she made a living. She mentioned that she used to strip, but now works for herself and spends time working with advocacy groups who fight for sex worker’s rights. She had a lot of stories about traveling, political activism and volunteer work. I know from my experience that activism and volunteering cant support this kind of travel. I thought she was either a stripper or a trust fund baby who felt a social obligation. Pretty soon, bits of stories and mentions of her family ruled out the trust fund baby theory.
Three hours went by like 5 minutes and she asked me if I’d like to go to her place because she had some herb. Of course I went. Even if I didn’t enjoy it, I would have gone. We finally had a moment where there was a lull in the conversation and I asked what she did for a living. She said point blank, looking me directly in the eye, “I’m an escort.” I asked “does that mean you take men out to dinner and shit?” She said “Sometimes, but mostly we just fuck.”
At the time, I had a comfortable buzz (not drunk, mind you—we were talking too much for me to actually get drunk), so my reaction was to roll with it. She said something along the lines of how she liked stripping, but found that being an escort suited her better because she could work entirely independently. Then (about 30 seconds after telling me she was a hooker) she said she had a client coming in 15 minutes, but that she really enjoyed hanging out with me. I returned the compliment and she asked if I would like to come back in about an hour and a half. I said “sure—give me a call.”
When I was driving home, I was in the weirdest state of mind. I thought about how life is not at all random. This person was exactly who I needed to meet at this point in my life. For one thing, I was very horny, and I thought that this person had to be down with casual sex. For another, I was in need of a good friend. Oh shit. Sex plus very good friend in the past has equaled relationship. I remember thinking about how I promised myself not to give my heart to someone who would break it—which at that point, basically meant not having a serious, monogamous relationship. I thought to myself “This is good. A friend who will have sex, but won’t become my girlfriend.” At the time, I believed her choice of work would keep me from getting too serious with her. This was my first personal contact with whore stigma. I try to be an honest person, but how could I tell my friends and family that I was falling in love with a prostitute? I thought “if she actually calls me, I will go back.” She called and I went back to her place and we DIDN’T EVEN HAVE SEX—despite the fact we met looking for casual sex on Craigslist.
She and I developed a very deep love for each other. If felt natural—actually, it felt inevitable. She taught me how to teach myself about polyamory. Through her, I learned and explored things like how societal constructs and conventions can be so ingrained that we mistake them as natural, universal and sourced within ourselves—when really, they are as about as natural as any other thing humans create, like Styrofoam, Chicken McNuggets or AK-47s that come from society. A prime example is jealousy. We are taught to be jealous when someone we love fucks someone else. Once I realized that jealousy is really just a reaction to a personal insecurity—jealousy is a thing I got from society: a convenient, pre-packaged way to deal with my perception of inadequacy. Jealousy—at one time the cause of so much pain in my life, is now something I understand and can actually reject, because I realize now that it is a distraction—a misdirection of energy that prevents me from exploring something scary (which like many scary things become less threatening once you learn more about it). I learned enough from her to write a book (and someday, I might just do that). She is a great friend who introduced me to some amazing people. She even helped me with my professional work (advocating for a marginalized group of people). She became my best friend very quickly. We went on many adventures together and shared enormous portions of our lives with each other.
Now, after two and a half years. It is time for a change. We both feel the need to step away from the fire. I need to retreat back into my solitude to confront personal demons that have hurt both of us and she has work to do as well. I managed to keep my promise not to let someone break my heart, but it is not because I protected it or kept it from her. It is because she is one of the best people I have ever met. She is that rare someone who lives by her own high standards (which means she is a fighter and can really piss people off). Once, I said one of the things that made me happiest about her was that I knew for certain that she was with me by choice—and if she was ever uncertain about that choice, she’d be gone. She, like many of the other whores I’ve come to know, is among the strongest and most capable people I know.
Our society has its good and its terrible aspects. I tend to believe our society must change because its terrible aspects are out of control. This is especially evident to me right now. Poor pitiful whores, it says. No way. OR it’s that nasty evil whore. Again—no way. This whore is anything but pitiful and certainly isn’t evil. She can have the piece of my heart I gave her. I know she will take care of it—just like how she takes care of her best clients. I also know the farthest I will ever be from her is a phone call—which at this time, seems like the best distance. And me, I took a test that said if I was an animal, I would be a wolf. I face a dilemma of being a social creature who cares very intensely for a few select people, but I also need a wide space to roam by myself. I know now that this whore I met on Craigslist also needs her space to roam—but she’s more like a queen bee (the test said she was a badger, I think that’s because she was in a bad mood when I made her take it after I found out I was a cool animal). And now, she needs to tend to her hive—which needs her more than ever. It seems like a tipping point for sex workers rights (and maybe, hopefully, even perceptions of sexuality in general) is on the horizon and her strength is better applied pushing the movement over that tipping point in the best direction than dealing with a crazy ass like me. She is a visionary, revolutionary, sharp as a fucking tack force of nature. She is flying away tomorrow, and I had to get this out—as much for myself as for her or, for anyone who doesn’t think whores are real people who are contributing to our society (and always have been–think: which women were the first to learn to read and write and more directly, who has been whispering into the ear of society’s most powerful men for as long as there has been society?) I feel like a more capable, stronger person for having met her–if for nothing else, if I am facing a tough decision or ethical dilemma I can now answer the question: “What would that whore I met on Craigslist do?” (WWTWIMOCLD?) I love her and always will—the whore I met on Craigslist.
Filed under: Ethics, Friends, Harassment of Sex Workers, Human Rights, Injustice, Politics, Sex Worker Rights, Stalkers, The First Time, Wisdom of Whores | 6 Comments »
Today is the third Friday the Thirteenth since I’ve been writing The Honest Courtesan, and there will be three such days this year (today, April 13th and July 13th); as it so happens, three is the maximum number of such days in any given year, though each year has at least one. In my very first column on the subject (Friday, August 13th, 2010) I explained how the superstition arose and why even superstitious whores should consider it lucky for us rather than unlucky:
Last time around I also offered a synopsis of prohibitionist victories since the last such day, but since I already offered a similar list just two weeks ago I think that would be inexcusably repetitious. And though there are several other days dedicated to fighting for sex worker rights (namely International Sex Workers’ Rights Day on March 3rd, International Whores’ Day on June 2nd and International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers on December 17th), human rights are not something to be discussed only once a year; even six occasions to speak out on the subject are not enough. For me and many others, every day is Friday the Thirteenth, and so it must remain until people wake up and understand that no collective, “authority” or government has the right to tell women what we can and cannot do with our own bodies.
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA – JUNE 18th, 2009 – 8PM. 
Bound, Not Gagged 