We sex workers are a fun, witty, nurturing, gorgeous group of people with big, beating hearts. Loving one of us is indeed a rare and special privilege, but as much as we wish we could claim that we’re “just like everyone else,” in some ways–for better or worse–that’s simply not true. Especially when it comes to dating.
Romantic involvement with a sex worker is different. There is no shortage of discourse about our intimate relationships, and the insinuation from critical outsiders tends to feel a little bit like this: “Even if sex workers are capable of having real relationships, who’s to say they deserve them?”
Those in the adult industry tend to feel strongly about the subject of personal romance, all while fielding presumptive, rudimentary, micro-aggressive, or otherwise othering questions. If they’re unattached, they might be assumed to be damaged, anti-social, or “crazy.” If they’re married, they must be desperately poor, or abused, or cheating, or maybe their partner is into being cucked. At best, the assumption is one of non-monogamy (which is sometimes true, but not necessarily).
When it comes to raising children, stereotypes about sex workers lead critical outsiders to believe that we are inherently unfit for the role, hence the State’s consideration of prostitution charges when dealing with child custody. In fact, I suspect many sex workers are some of the best at parenting, because of our honed ability to perform caretaking for others, to entertain and to provide. Any parent of a toddler knows: often, the name of the game is distraction and redirection–key elements in any escort’s skill-set.
...the insinuation from critical outsiders tends to feel a little bit like this: “Even if sex workers are capable of having real relationships, who’s to say they deserve them?”
I also believe sex workers to be some of the best at choosing partners, because, in contrast to the performativity often required by our work, we are much more attuned to the sensations of authentic attraction. We are more likely to begin relationships having developed many interpersonal strengths such as active listening and establishing and maintaining boundaries. Not to mention some snazzy moves in the boudoir.
But of course, all humans bring their tender spots into every relationship they enter. For sex workers and their loved ones, conflict-causing issues may or may not involve feelings about the work, or even about sexuality. When those issues do arise, they deserve space to be discussed.
Below, I explore three topics Whores and their loved ones may encounter, and attempt to offer whatever slivers of insight I’ve gleaned in dating and early marriage. Those three issues are: Feelings of Exclusion, Safety, and Stigma.
NB: for the purpose of this piece, I must limit my scope and omit the potential fiscal and emotional harm caused specifically by criminalization, such as eviction, fines, incarceration, loss of child custody, etc. That’s a whole other article.
Feelings of Exclusion
During our courtship and engagement, if my now-spouse and I disagreed about anything regarding my sex work, the conflict never involved any unchecked feelings of possessiveness, impotence, jealousy, or repulsion. But then, late last year, I met a client who enjoys stand-up comedy, and we attended several performances together. One day, I opened my messages, and he’d invited me to see Trevor Noah. Though I was on one hand bursting with excitement, I was also deeply hesitant.
My then-fiance and I had literally just finished listening to the audiobook for Noah’s memoir Born A Crime. Not only were we dropping one-liners from the book in everyday conversation and daydreaming about how our future kids might look a little like Trevor, we were planning to travel to South Africa a couple of weeks after the show’s date.
Seeing Trevor Noah live was one of those things that carried the slight weight of the strangely-sacred. It felt like something I might not do without my partner, period. The feelings of disloyalty made for a big conundrum, especially since the booking would help cover a healthy portion of our travel and wedding expenses. Before raising the subject, I wondered if it was worth the justifiably sticky feelings I assumed would accompany it. I decided it was and, after consulting my partner, accepted the appointment.
When locations or activities of increased interest and/or sentimentality are involved, unanticipated, uncharacteristic feelings of envy can surface. But before we even really get into it–it’s absolutely imperative that all lovers have worked through their feelings of jealousy before deepening any romantic connection, especially one with a sex worker. After doing some of this work, situations that may have once electrified an internal insecurity begin to roll off the shoulders. When this happens, it is easier to locate cognitive distortions and more clearly gauge the validity of a given reaction. The emotional work around jealousy and envy has laid the groundwork for this clarity.
In the absence of professional therapy, a secure sense of self can also be cultivated by establishing self-care practices and investing in independent interests and pastimes. I’d also venture to say that many sex workers would benefit from choosing partners who model and encourage a healthy work/life balance, someone who can encourage us to “clock out.” Money-motivated self-employment can be a slippery slope to workaholism and burn-out, and we all need hobbies and down-time!
However, feelings of exclusions are different from feelings of jealousy, and sex workers offering their partner’s preferred forms of emotional support is both in everyone’s interest and the right thing to do. All things considered, it may not be unreasonable for the partner of a sex worker to express the preference that, say, their spouse doesn’t suggest dates with clients at the restaurant where they got engaged. Unless, of course, we’re dealing with a one-stoplight town.
Many sex workers would benefit from choosing partners who model and encourage a healthy work/life balance, someone who can encourage us to “clock out.”
On the other side of the coin, it’s up to partners to accept that sex workers will likely take bookings and go to restaurants or shows (or islands) that maybe they, too, have been eyeing. It’s crucial for partners to pick their battles as carefully as they would organic avocados they’re planning to use two days from now. The more indiscriminately finicky the partner, the more difficult the sex worker’s life will be–emotionally and financially.
The question almost always becomes about the quantity of money involved–if the amount is relatively insubstantial, or if you are in a financial place to afford turning down the sum, it may not warrant the strain it puts on the relationship. But if it’s a big chunk of change? It’s probably time for everyone to compartmentalize and do-what-ya-gotta-do. Work sucks, but most of us have to do at least a little bit of it. Great compensation makes up for the already hefty heap of bullshit sex workers deal with. It is up to us to devote our energy only to those who, by understanding our plight, don’t add unnecessary weight to the pile.
In the end–in one of my favorite examples of “the Whore Goddesses smiling upon me" – my client had to cancel last-minute and generously gave my partner and I the two tickets to Noah’s show.
Workplace Safety: Trust & Support
Never in a million years did I think I would enthusiastically agree to my romantic partner “tracking” me. I’ve seen more than my share of abusive behavior, from boyfriends I’d kept past their expiration dates. But when I started dating my now-spouse, some of our only tense conversations early on were ones when he expressed concern for my on-the-job safety. After a fleeting wave of defensiveness, I suppressed my urge to deliver my entire monologue of screening measures, the one I’d prepared for my parents and close friends. Instead, I was the first to suggest that I share my location with him when I was working.
The laundry list of occupational hazards of sex work is the concern I find most valid – violence from clients and cops being the most acute – and practically everyone close to me has had similar fears about my well-being as a full-service provider.
Trust is the foundation of any bond, and sex workers’ relationships often test one’s capacity to trust not only your partner, but the individuals with whom your partner conducts business, especially in the wake of the Long Island Serial Killer (LISK). Safety remains a topic that must be taken seriously even by someone in the position to maintain an airtight screening practice.
No matter how adept a FSSW may be at mitigating danger, the fact remains that we have an extremely high risk of harm relative to other populations. While loggers are thought to have one of the most dangerous occupations, with 111 deaths per 100,000 workers, the statistics for FSSWs nearly double that, and this is especially true for those who work “outdoors.” These workers also face a disproportionately high likelihood of non-lethal assault, whether that’s sexual and/or physical attack, stalking, kidnapping, robbery, or arrest. And of course, when our human rights are violated in an environment where we are criminalized, we also contend with decreased access to recourse. Not to mention that arrest may, statistically, include one or more of the aforementioned violent acts, especially if the victim is non-white.
No matter how adept a FSSW may be at mitigating danger, the fact remains that we have an extremely high risk of harm relative to other populations.
Partners of sex workers must have faith in the worker’s ability to make the soundest choices possible when it comes to vetting clients, learning self-defense, committing to safer sex practices, etc. They should feel free to raise concerns if they have them (“Honey, do you feel as safe at a rural AirBNB as you do at a downtown hotel?” or “You mentioned this new client seemed clingy. Do you mind sneaking to the bathroom to text me that you’re okay?”), but should err on the side of respecting the worker’s expertise.
Most sex workers do not want to be “rescued from” the industry, but when our lives are supported in meaningful ways, we are empowered to avoid more dangerous work environments. Allow me to stress this: No one among us is wrong for feeling sometimes nervous about our sex-working partners, friends, or family members. However, if partners of FSSWs (especially those in relatively safe positions) are experiencing worry, dread, or fear that feels out of control, they should seek tools for navigating those anxiety symptoms: self-help reading, professional therapy, somatic exercises, breath-work, yoga, etc.
At the beginning of this section, I mentioned one of the initial steps my partner and I took after first discussing my occupational safety: using location-sharing technology and texting before and after each client. That said, I was already practicing these measures with a few people: sex working and non-sex working friends. Anyone who loves a sex worker can make themselves available as an emergency contact or “check-in buddy” in this way.
Most sex workers do not want to be “rescued from” the industry, but when our lives are supported in meaningful ways, we are empowered to avoid more dangerous work environments.
If loved ones of sex workers observe an acceptance of riskier work conditions, they might, if possible, offer tangible support to alleviate an immediate financial imperative. Accept that your offer may be declined, and avoid sharing so much that the relationship would be severely damaged in the absence of repayment. However, I find it’s good practice to always think of money shared as a gift, as opposed to a loan.
On that note, taking proactive measures to reduce harm in the lives of your local sex workers (not just your beloved’s) benefits everyone involved. Anyone with the means can also always donate to SW organizations and/or mutual aid funds for our more vulnerable community members. Often the best way to support more marginalized sex workers is by asking what they need and donating to them directly.
Finally, and most simply, it is an expectation of our allies to ask, “Why is that funny? I don’t get it…” whenever they overhear a dead-hooker joke, and wait to hear the bumbling, dumb-founded response. Hollow, tasteless displays of “humor” in dead-hooker jokes contribute to the notion that FSSWs–especially those who are street-based–are negligible, disposable, less-than-human. This perpetuates the violence inflicted upon us, which continues to be excused away by unevolved bigotry cloaked in respectability, otherwise known as: Stigma.
That Big, Bad Bitch: Stigma
A few years back, I found myself in a conversation about trafficking with some concerned-but-misguided acquaintances at a bar. To further validate my points about conflation and consent, I disclosed that I’m an escort, at which point one of the guys threw both palms up and retreated, almost fearfully, as if to say, “If anyone asks, I didn’t try to traffic you.” Similarly, I once had a boyfriend who went out of his way to make sure anyone who knew I was a sex worker also knew that he wasn’t a pimp. Stigma.
In another relationship, more recently, I disclosed my occupation to the then-object of my affection on our first date. We didn’t sleep together until our fourth date, and then he ended things after several months of alarmingly hot romping, citing my sexual politics and current occupation. Though wounded, I couldn’t deny that our time together included more than one conversation during which he tearfully apologized for his difficulty with committing to a sex worker. I remember him mentioning fear that his mother would find out. Stigma.
Stigma is something we sex workers face no matter what. Erotic labor is simply not yet palatable to a lot of people in this world, and an unforgiving culture employs shame to stoke discord in our social lives. Despite this, disclosure was, and obviously still is, my default. Privately, I don’t want to feel like I’m hiding anything from my loved ones, especially something I’m not ashamed of.
Publicly, I see it as a small way to use some of my privilege, and hopefully for the Greater Good. So long as we live by the motto “Speak Up, Not Over” and prioritize the most marginalized voices whenever possible, I think there exists great potential in loud, proud whores. For many people, a nerdy little corn-fed whore like me redefines their stereotype of “prostitute,” and presenting in a way that strangers might not expect has enabled me to do at least a little heavy-lifting when it comes to normalizing erotic labor.
Stigma is something we sex workers face no matter what. Erotic labor is simply not yet palatable to a lot of people in this world.
So, a concern that continues to rear its nasty head in my marriage–despite not seeing clients–boils down to that Big, Bad Bitch. Stigma. As for managing stigma in a practical way, I mean–shit. It can feel really hard. For us, it has entailed near-constant compromise, due to our mutual choice to partner with someone whose life functions within a system that is much more or much less strict than our own. My husband works a corporate job; What if a colleague recognizes me? He also comes from a traditional, very religious family; What if someone back home finds out? We can be as freaky-deaky as we want in the privacy of our own home, but, whether we like it or not, if too much of that deviance seeps out into a more conservative corner of our shared world, there could be serious repercussions.
Where disclosure is concerned, there can and should be a collaborative conversation between partners, but usually I think it’s up to the sex worker to make the ultimate call. Do my grandmothers know? No. Does my mother-in-law? No. If it isn’t going to a) make the relationship closer, or b) further my ultimate mission to demystify sex workers’ collective experience in the name of sexual and economic liberation, they don’t need to know. And while it’s on my spouse to accept and encourage me to speak up for what I am passionate about, it’s on me to make sure I’m being judicious about whom I tell and accepting that he and I have very different realities.
My husband’s closest friend knows about my sex work, but it took until after we were married for him to disclose that information. The impulse behind his delay was protective; he didn’t want to risk something so rife with stigma tampering with his friend’s earliest impressions of me, nor did he want to “tell [my] story for [me].” But, as he also said, “If friends are judging you, are they really friends?” and I wholeheartedly agree. I might have mentioned it to this friend myself at some point, but we lived in different states, and on the rare occasion we’re physically together in a room, we’re always having so much fun–why jeopardize the vibe? Sex work isn’t the most interesting thing about me, but I can only keep my mouth shut so long before I start to feel silenced and/or ashamed.
“Friends are one thing,” my husband said, “but what about family, especially older generations?” That’s a little different, and so far, handled case-by-case on a basis of whether the relationship will be strengthened. Even more rigid are the rules of engagement for his work colleagues. I know that if I want my partner to feel confident that he can safely invite me to a corporate work event, sugar-coating my truth is essential with people who matter professionally but not personally.
As grateful as I am for the privilege of my ability to be so “out” in most facets of my life, I also feel frustrated that my partner doesn’t get to experience the same reality. And while I am also grateful that his choice provides us with a measure of financial security, it depresses me to know that our livelihood depends on his agreement to remain within a world that is lucrative but not liberated. He worries (legitimately) that my experiences with sex work might collapse this reliable structure if I, for example, publish a book about them under my real name.
When I discussed this with my SW-only writers’ group, we wondered if stigma is ever totally resolved within a relationship so long as it exists in the world, if it’s only possible to master if we choose partners who “get it”--because maybe they are sex workers, are queer, or work in a stigmatized industry, too. We spoke about the way fostering a community can help to insulate ourselves–and, by proxy, our families–from the harms of an often harshly critical and willfully ignorant society. The process of resisting stigma will look a little different for different people, we decided, and for every relationship. There are so many factors at play: religion, class, region, individual expectations, monogamy agreements, etc.
We wondered if stigma is ever totally resolved within a relationship so long as it exists in the world, if it’s only possible to master if we choose partners who “get it”.
We all are aware that stigma exists and infects; we just have different ways of handling it. I want my loved ones to assure me that my story is more valuable than a comfortable shelter from stigma, and I believe that good partners care about the right things. They have healthy attitudes about what other people might think or whisper. Good partners have no reason to judge one another, because each is within their respective comfort zones, standing firm in their integrity while understanding the other’s circumstance.
Genuine intimacy will almost certainly entail very real conflicts, the kind that make you question the very ground beneath you. These conflicts can be so wildly destabilizing not because you are withstanding an attack, but because your lover’s argument is so valid and your empathy is so activated, you want to debate both for and against your own convictions.
These are the conversations most worth having: discussions that pierce through the skin and the meat to reach the marrow of your bones, the ones that reveal the ground beneath your love. These are the times when you learn the most about both Self and Other, learn how to recover and repair and remember to care, and when you choose to celebrate, to tolerate, or to split.
Are you a sex worker with a story, opinion, news, or tips to share? We'd love to hear from you!
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