First Professional Tantra Session

Yesterday, I had my first Tantric massage client. The session was absolutely beautiful.

I had put myself on the schedule, expecting that I wouldn’t get any work on my very first day. I had spent the weekend with Josh and had not finished setting up my place. I had my laundry done, but I hadn’t finished cleaning.

Ra came over unexpectedly because he and his partner had had an argument. We were drinking tea and sharing a joint when I got the text: Can you see a client tonight for two hours?

“Oh shit!” I said, looking around at my messy apartment.

‘Sure,’ I texted back. ‘What time?’


It was just before 7.

Ra and I looked at each other. “Can we have this place client-ready in an hour?” I asked.

“Yes!” Ra and I instantly jumped into action. I scrubbed the toilet. Ra did the dishes. Soon, the massage table was out, covered with linens. The salt lamp and candles were lit. The place looked radiant.

I brewed some tea and jumped in the shower. Ra went down the street to a coffee shop. I changed into a simple green dress and colourful shawl. I took a few deep breaths. My stomach flipped. This was a completely new to me, and I would have to have something more than empty flirtations and posturing to offer the man who was on his way over.

He knocked. I took a deep breath and answered the door. My breath caught in my throat. He was an absolutely beautiful man, tall, with deep blue eyes and light brown hair. His eyes lit up when he saw me. I hugged him and invited him in, took his jacket (very sexy, form-fitting leather) and offered him tea. We each took our cups of peppermint tea and took a seat on the bench.

“I apologize for the small space,” I said, acknowledging the absence of a coffee table.

“No, it’s lovely here,” he said.

We chatted a little. I asked him about his experience with tantra and if he had had any sessions like this before. He was quite experienced, and had seen other practitioners for a variety of sessions. He asked me how long I have been doing this work.

“I’m new to the Temple,” I said. “But I have been studying and practicing this work in a different form for a little over a year. I’m giddy and nervous tonight because this is new to me.” My new thing is to be vulnerable and authentic whenever possible.

I told him my ideas for the session, stressing that it was free-flowing and depended on the energy between the two of us.

We undressed. I draped my shawl strategically over my body. He kept his underwear on at first. We got up on the massage table and sat in almost-yab yum. I reminded him (though I doubt he needed reminding) to eye gaze left eye to left eye and we started to breathe together. I was touched by how receptive and open he was during the meditations. He held my gaze gently, but steadily. We did alternate breathing, followed by more breathing together. By the end of the meditation, I felt grounded and at-ease. Of course, I still had flutters in my belly from being so close to such a gorgeous man, but I felt focused and happy. I placed one hand over his heart and took his hand and placed it over my heart. We stayed like that for a few breaths. Then I let my hands trace his hair and trail down his body, down his arms and over his fingers. He shyly reciprocated. I smiled and sighed softly to show my approval. I liked his touch.

I directed him off the table and to sit at the bench. I got down in front of him and ritually washed his feet with my homemade sugar and coconut oil scrub. The bowl was a bit too small, but I did my best and he seemed happy. Then I asked him to take off his underwear and lie on the table. He lay face down on the table. First, I covered his beautiful body with my orange Egyptian cotton sheet. I felt grounded and full of purpose. First, I traced a Reiki symbol into both of my finger tips and did the chakra balancing exercise that Rania taught me. I know that a lot of people scoff at the laying on of hands as a healing art, but I have always felt powerful things whenever I’ve been involved in such things. When the energy work part was done,  I uncovered his body slowly, teasing him with a feather followed by a cashmere hat that feels so soft. I remembered Rania and Don running something similar down my back and how wonderful it felt.

At one point, I looked up and noticed that he had left the donation too close to one of my candles and one of the twenty dollar bills was starting to catch fire. I quietly went over, moved the bills out of harm’s way and put out the fire before returning to the table. I was pretty pleased with how I handled that curve ball.

I went and grabbed my heated coconut oil off the oil warmer (you know you’ve arrived when you have an oil warmer), and returned to the table. I oiled up my hands and began the massage. Slowly, I ran my hands along his back, guiding him into deeper relaxation. It thrilled me how easily he relaxed into receiving. When I moved my hands down his arms, he clasped my hands in his, and I clasped back, enjoying the intimacy of that moment. I massaged his whole body, from his feet to his head, before inviting him to turn over.

I placed a pillow behind his head and one under his knees. Making eye contact, I poured oil through my fingers onto his chest and spread it all over him with playful, varied strokes. First, I focused on his chest and legs, avoiding his semi hard cock. Then I moved my hand over his cock, rubbing his shaft with the heel of my hand until it grew. Then, I moved my hands up his body, spreading the sexual energy away from his genitals to his heart. I held his heart with one hand, his cock with the other. Our breath synchronized, we were completely present with each other.

“Would you join me on the table?” He asked, sitting up. I climbed onto the table and we entered a full yab yum this time, his cock pressed against my belly, only the thin fabric of my thong between us. We breathed together and he ran his hands down my body, gently, respectfully, giving me pleasure. He took my head in his hands and kissed me, gently, tentatively, as though making sure that it was ok before going further. I kissed back.

“May I touch you there?” He asked, gesturing towards my pussy.

“Yes,” I said. “Just through my underwear.” I loved being able to set boundaries. There was a naked man on my massage table, and I was not expected to fuck him! How positively delicious and liberating!

He touched me very consciously, and made me feel wonderful. I responded to the touch, wanting more, wanting to remove the barrier and let him have at me. “May I push these aside?” He asked.

“I’ll take them off,” I said.

When they were gone, he lowered me onto the table. I had a moment of wondering if I would fall. “I’ve got you,” he said. “There’s plenty of room.”

He ran his fingers over me, touching my pussy gently and pleasingly. I let go into the pleasure, running my hands over my body.

“Do you have any condoms?” He asked.

“I don’t normally go there during these sessions,” I said.

“Oh, ok,” he said, looking a little embarrassed for having asked.

I looked into his lovely eyes and realized that, in that moment, I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to share that experience with him. It would not feel like I was betraying myself if I let myself go there. Far from it.

“I’m tempted to make an exception for you,” I said. “If I do, you won’t tell, will you?” The last thing I needed was for it to get around that I was just another ‘full service provider’ after all I went through to break away from mainstream escorting.

“I won’t tell,” He said.

I got up and grabbed a couple of condoms and a packet of lube. He got up and washed the oil off of his cock, which impressed me greatly. He came back to the table and we sat, facing each other, touching and kissing. I rubbed some lube on his cock and put the condom on him. Holding my head in his hands, he lowered me to the table and slowly entered me. I responded enthusiastically – he felt wonderful. He kept looking into my eyes and I looked into his. My hands trailed down his back and up again. His eyes widened as he came, and I held him, sighing as I felt him reach his climax. He held me for a moment before going to the bathroom to clean up and dispose of the condom. I lay back on the table, completely at ease, comfortable being naked, happy to have shared a moment with someone who respected me and honoured what I had to offer.

He came back to me and enveloped me in a hug. I wrapped my arms around him, kissing his chest. “Thank you for making an exception for me,” he said. “It was my pleasure,” I replied, and meant it.

We held each other for a while before he moved away and started getting dressed. I helped him find his clothes. We hugged once more and then he was off into the night.

I texted Don and Rania to let them know the session was a success. ‘Everything went well. He was very sweet, and gorgeous!’

Ra came back and we high-fived and celebrated my first Tantric Temple client. We walked down the street and had tapas and a bottle of wine to celebrate new and exciting developments.

We came home and hung out a while before going to bed. We shared my double bed, and soon Ra was sound asleep. I traced my clit in the dark, feeling the swelling of sexual energy ebb and flow through my body. Eventually I went into the other room and lay down on the massage table, covering myself with a sheet. I touched myself all over until I was in a frenzy. Slowly, meditatively, I penetrated myself with my dildo, switching my finger for a vibrator. I fucked myself, first slow, then fast, fast fast. Soon, I was having a full-body orgasm followed by laughter and smiles. “I love my life” I said to myself.


I Did It! Step One

Well, I signed up for Rania and Don’s practitioner training. The first part happens this weekend. I bought myself a himalayan rock salt lamp to celebrate. It’s pleasing pink glow on my table/writing desk is a symbol of the positive changes I am making in my life. I still haven’t figured out how to wiggle out of my lease, but I have had some friends give me valuable advice on the subject. I’m biding my time, looking online at places occasionally, and trusting that all will work out in the end.

I saw Josh last night, and we spent much of today together. Almost a year of being in each other’s lives and it still feels positively magical. My friend Ra, who did a shamanic healing session with me last week, said that he feels strongly that my story will have a happy ending… which is only fitting considering I have given happy endings to so many (hardy har). I am taking his advice with Josh and am just focusing on the here and now and on how wonderful it is to be with him. No freaking out about The Future or whywouldanyonewannabewithahooker or any of that drivel. Just be present with this wonderful person right now, and let the rest sort itself out. I firmly believe that once I transition to being a tantric practitioner, I will be in a stronger place to make my feelings known. In the meantime, I truly don’t think he’s going anywhere. He is very loving with me and I with him. No harm in taking the slow, steady path.

Challenges and Possible Solutions

Work this week has not gone well. I had three appointments, all of which were not pleasant for me. On Thursday night, I had a seven hour appointment with a very attractive and polite man. He wanted to dominate me, which was not something I would have agreed to had I booked the appointment. However, since I was there and I needed to make some money, and I got a reasonably good feeling from him, I agreed within certain limitations. The activity was 100 percent consensual, and he checked in regularly to make sure I was doing ok. That said, it was deeply unpleasant for me. It was not something I ever would have agreed to in my private life, especially with my history of being in a long-term relationship with someone who did not respect my limits in BDSM play and who was very dominant.

Seven hours of face slapping, hair pulling, whipping, spanking, being spat on and told to get into outrageously difficult positions on the floor in heels took a lot out of me. I was literally counting down the minutes until I could leave. At the crack of dawn I returned home feeling broken and exhausted.

The following night, my new friends, the Tantric massage couple, had me over for dinner. We had a lovely time, as we always do. They listened to me whine about my work and the horribly challenging seven hours the night before. The evening ended with them taking me into their massage room and giving me a wonderful four hand sensual massage. It was deeply healing for me. They explicitly stated that they wanted absolutely nothing from me, that they just wanted to serve me that night. I was deeply touched, and after they were finished, I felt better. I am still not completely my old self, but I am definitely better today.

This morning, Rania and I had a long conversation during which I told her how conflicted I’ve been about my work, and how draining it is to have sex with men who don’t see the sacred in what I do and what I have to offer. She understood and listened. I told her how relationship oriented I’ve become recently and how much it’s freaking me out.

I have realized that I do have to make some changes. Rania and Don are helping me figure out my options. Don told me that he and Rania would like me to work for them doing tantric massage, but that if they had to choose, they would rather have my friendship. I told them I wanted their friendship and I wanted to work for them. I’d be making comparable money to my cut at the agency, and I wouldn’t have to provide sexual favours beyond the scope of the Tantric sensual massage. I would have to make my home into a Tantric temple, which is doable. If I pursue this, I have the hope of work that truly would cause me to feel pride and happiness. I want to make a difference and I want to help people explore their sexuality, but I want to do it on my own terms, not according to anyone else’s whim.

Breaking Open to the Divine

I am falling more deeply in love every day. It is frightening, exhilarating, dizzyingly wonderful and profoundly ecstatic. In the tantric school, they said that pleasure is medicine. That is also what the founders of the Sexological Bodywork profession believe. I know this is true.

Sex with Josh is such sweet ecstasy. We keep going deeper into these states of bliss and exploring new and interesting territory. Last weekend, while he was fucking me, I had an orgasm so deep and strong that I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the rest of the world began. I melted into this sweet golden light and the sacred healing energy cascaded through me. There was no part of my being that was untouched.

I remember, years ago, when I was an angry nineteen year old fleeing my abusive lover. I was staying with some people I knew and considered friends at the time. They were strict Christians. I had embraced the Christian faith mostly as a knee-jerk reaction to the pain I felt after being beaten by my lover. I embraced celibacy and maintained a structured existence. Sex, after all, led to loss of control, which led to someone having power over you. I never wanted to feel that fear again, the fear I felt when my lover tossed me around, breaking my skin and choking me until I saw white spots dancing in front of my eyes. The sex with him had been exquisite, but was it worth the price of pain and fear? Was it worth hearing the things he had screamed at me in his rages?

I recall the day I sat in the kitchen with my Christian roommate and her granddaughters. It was a nice moment, a moment of community and sharing. We were desperately poor and lived in squalor, but we had each other. We prayed together, and as we bowed our heads, it occurred to me that there was a dark and painful part of myself that seemed very large and frightening, that no amount of prayer could really heal. In fact, as time went on, the stifling of my sexuality resulted in my spiritual life shriveling up like a plant deprived of water and sunlight.

At the moment, with Josh, when I had that orgasm, I felt that dark and painful place shatter and the golden light pierced the darkness. Before, with the abuse I suffered in intimate relationships, I had felt myself break in pain, huddling on bathroom floors terrified and humiliated. Now, I break apart with the most exquisite pleasure. The walls I built up inside myself shattered and I was left smiling, laughing, and thanking the Creator for allowing me to feel such happiness. I really get to feel this much pleasure. I really get to feel so amazing.

In Christianity and other major religions, pleasure is seen as sinful, as corrupting, a distraction from godly pursuits. This disconnect between sex and spirit, heart and genitals, has caused humanity so many problems. I truly believe that we would not see the devastation of war, greed and cruelty in our world if everyone truly embraced the healing power of their sexuality and used it as a path to the divine.

Conversations With my Lover on Sex Work

It is still a somewhat awkward topic at times, and I find myself not disclosing every work story when I am with Josh. I don’t want to worry him, and I don’t want to bog him down with information about all my clients and experiences. A couple weeks ago, I was visiting him, and we were having coffee on the table in the common area of his apartment building, and the conversation flowed in a way that made the topic easy to address.

He mentioned that he has an issue with people who claim to be ‘sexual healers’. This led to a discussion on how one can never be a ‘healer’ but rather a facilitator for someone to go through the healing process themselves. The person may provide something that helps the person heal, but they are not responsible for the healing.

My heart beat faster as I took a sip of my black coffee. Now was my chance to take a risk, be vulnerable, and share my personal experiences with my lover. It would either bring us closer, or he would have an issue with it and it would push us apart.

I told him the story of the young man I worked with who was terrified to have sex after his long-term girlfriend consistently belittled him in bed. I told Josh about how I held this man and comforted him before guiding him through the experience of pleasuring me, and how after the session was done, he was completely ecstatic that he was able to have pleasurable sex again.

Josh looked at me in a way that showed me that he really got it. His eyes lit up and were full of admiration. “That’s awesome,” he said, and my heart swelled with happiness. My work had not made me unloveable. Quite the opposite.

I told him another story about a man who hired me to pleasure his girlfriend. She wanted the experience, but was terrified. I gave her a full-body massage and talked her through the experience, giving her a full vulva massage and an internal massage. The session ended with her asking her boyfriend to watch me and take notes for future reference.

Josh suggested that we watch The Sessions together, the movie about the sex surrogate who works with the man who was crippled by polio and who spent most of his life in an iron lung. The next weekend, we watched the movie together and cuddled the whole time. I found it very moving, even though I would have preferred that they had given the surrogate more air time and explored her life more deeply. The poet with polio was the character who got the most air time, and he was a fascinating character, and the connection between him and the surrogate was very touching. It was also nice to see a sex worker portrayed as having a healthy marriage, even though it was not explored in great detail.

I am so blessed to have found someone like Josh. He is the man I used to imagine myself finding, and, over time, grew to believe did not exist, at least not for me. He deeply respects women and is very spiritual.

Two Queens

As I sat in the passenger’s seat of my driver’s car, watching the city lights fade to the stretch of country roads, I mused on the experiences I have had since starting this new chapter in my life. Flashes of men in hotel rooms, men who’s names I do not recall. I remember how many of them came to me with very few words, clutching my body like a flotation device, looking into my eyes as they approached climax. Some of them cried in that moment and I held them, offering them comfort, offering them my lush, yielding, gentle body, and sharing some part of myself, even though we would likely never meet again.

Images of how sex work is perceived flashed through my mind: soul-destroying, abusive, damaging, degrading. I imagine people thinking of women like me as soulless vampires, opportunists, dead inside, unable to feel the sweet ambrosia of sexual pleasure. It amused me in that moment how completely wrong that description is for me. Sex work has deepened my compassion for men, not annihilated it. Men are complex, beautiful, vulnerable, human. So are women. And everyone else.

My parents are astrologers and tarot readers. To this day, I have a deck of cards that I consult from time to time. A reading I gave myself turned up two queens, the Queen of Swords and the Queen of Cups. The Queen of Swords is independent, cold, unattached, set apart. This is how I felt when my marriage ended. I put up so many walls around my heart, not wanting to let anyone in again, not wanting to feel anything too deeply for anyone. The Queen of Cups is emotionally available, nurturing, compassionate, romantic. As I drove down that sporadically lit road, those two archetypes flitted through my head. I am caught between the two. I am bursting with love and desire for connection, but I still insist on protecting myself. Funny how marriage and a live-in relationship prior to marriage caused me to put up walls, while sex work has helped me tear down those walls. Life is full of seeming contradictions.

I focused on the feelings of love that burst from my chest. It was so beautiful that I almost wept. Yes, I said to the night sky, yes, I will be open to love. Yes, I will continue to risk. I will live this way. I will consciously remove these safeguards and make myself vulnerable. It is the more authentic way to live. I will protect myself, but I will not shut down.

Challenging Common Misconceptions About Sex Workers

Sometimes I scour the web in search of information for people in my profession, insider tips on how to manage work and a personal love life. I was on such a search last night, which brought me to a message board where people weigh in on whether or not they would seriously date/marry an escort/stripper/porn star, current or former. I was encouraged by the ones who said yes, they would consider it. But it’s hard not to get sad about the many who say no. Not because their rejection hurts me (it doesn’t) but because they are writing me off without knowing anything about me other than my profession.

So now, rather than absorb the shame messages, I have decided to confront them head-on in this ranty blog post. Here goes:

Sex workers hate sex. They only do it for money:

First, it’s impossible to categorically say that all sex workers have the same relationship to sex and money. Second, why do we rarely hear this about other professionals? Psychologists just hate listening to people. They hate it so much that they go to school and hone their therapeutic skills so that they can charge a respectable hourly rate. That would sound silly. Now, granted, there are people in the industry who do not enjoy their work, who have gotten into it because the high earning potential outweighs the psychological costs and physical risks. Because money is necessary for survival in a capitalist society. That said, it is very possible to approach sex work as a conscious choice and even a calling. I have spent a lot of time studying sexual techniques and fetishes, and those skills, in addition to my interpersonal skills, make my work highly rewarding. It feels great to do something you enjoy (most of the time, we all have bad days) and get paid a respectable wage for it.

You can never trust a sex worker. If she dates you, she’s only using you.

People of all professions have been known to use and abuse the people they become involved with romantically. A sex worker is probably pretty unlikely to want a personal relationship to resemble a professional client/escort relationship. An escort already makes good money at work. We are human beings with other needs and desires. I know for myself, despite the thrills and the money that come with work, I crave honest human connection. I’m dating someone who is not rich, but who is kind and giving, warm and funny and smart. While I do know some escorts who will not date outside of work, who claim that ‘smart girls never fuck for free’ I know more who enjoy loving personal relationships, or who would like to when the conditions of their lives allow for that to happen.

Sex workers are all emotional train-wrecks/were abused as children/have no self-esteem

This myth comes from a basic patriarchal myth about women: namely that we are so fragile that we can only enjoy sex within the context of committed love, which translates to lots of sandwich-making, service to our lover/husband. Men, on the other hand, are expected to be sexual. A man going out and having a lot of sex is seen as normal. We don’t feel the need to pity him and comment on how he must be acting out abuse from his past. Our culture is so threatened by a woman who owns her sexual desire, so threatened that we must disempower her by saying that she is to be pitied. Now, granted, some people in the sex industry are troubled people with drug habits and emotional problems. Then again, I’ve known plenty of people who serve food for a living who were also troubled people with drug habits and emotional problems. How well-adjusted to the work you are depends on your own personal relationship to yourself and to the work. And, in fact, most of the women I know in the industry are tough, confident, witty, driven and fun to be around. Certainly working as an escort gives you a different perspective on committed, long-term relationships (hard to idealize the concept of happily ever after when you’ve fucked enough married men in the ass), but to categorically say that only people with problems get into this industry is flawed thinking. It also bears mentioning that it takes considerable confidence and self-esteem to be able to get naked in front of a stranger or group of strangers, negotiate boundaries, pleasure yourself, dance, or fuck. People need to recognize that whores are gutsy and beautiful.

Also, I am so sick of this tired trope of ‘oh, she must have been abused as a child, that’s why she’s so fucked up’ being trotted out. Unfortunately, many people in our society have been abused. A history of abuse does not guarantee a lifetime of bad choices and emotional issues. We are all able to heal from whatever happened to us in the past and go on to live full, healthy, productive lives. Which may or may not include sex work.

Sex workers are disgusting and full of scary STIs:

I would love to see the shaming of sexually active people, women in particular, just die already. It is a myth that someone who has a lot of sex with a lot of people will automatically have a host of STIs. Although sex workers have various degrees of empowerment around safer sex negotiation, most sex workers have above-average knowledge of safer sex practices and above average consistency in using these methods. An escort is not likely to ‘forget’ to use a condom in the heat of the moment. She will carry her own bag of safer sex supplies and insist on using them correctly and consistently. At the agency where I work, it is considered trashy and disgusting to perform oral sex on a client without a condom, generally. Very few girls make the exception and forego rubber for oral sex. Also, every escort I know gets a full checkup for STIs every one to three months, which is more than can be said for the average person.

Also, this fear-mongering about STIs really needs to stop. Yes, STIs are a real danger and a lot of them are scary, and we need to talk about them and deal with them. But could we please have the dialogue without all the stigma and ‘only dirty disgusting people contract STIs’ rhetoric. Any sexually active person is potentially at risk of an STI. We all need to be getting tested regularly and taking care of our health. And if we consider it simply a health issue, rather than a moral issue, we’d get a lot further. Many common STIs are easily treated. HPV infection is present in 98 percent of sexually active people, and, in the overwhelming majority of cases, causes no symptoms whatsoever. Genital herpes is found in one in four people, and many people who have the virus do not know they have it because they either have never experienced an outbreak, or the symptoms of it were so mild that they attributed it to something else, like chafing or razor burn, or a yeast infection. HIV remains a scary virus, but, with new treatments, it is becoming a chronic manageable condition rather than an automatic death sentence. Also, a person who is HIV positive and on medication to lower viral loads to undetectable, is unlikely to pass the virus on to sexual partners. I would still recommend condoms, because I’m a safety freak, but I am against fear mongering. Learn the facts, practice safer sex to the best of your ability, get tested regularly, and please chill the fuck out. I have had a lot of sex in my life, and I have never contracted an STI (except probably for the HPV virus, which is likely present in my body just like it is in practically every sexually active person on the planet).

I could not be with a sex worker, because she would never truly be with me:

Can we ever say that anyone is ever truly ours? Our lovers, even if they are sexually exclusive with us, will always notice other people, fantasize about them, or reminisce about a past lover from time to time. That is normal and healthy and just  part of being human. We would all be way happier if we got over it. I would love to see love divorced from the idea of ownership. I’ve done a lot of work myself on letting go of this desire to possess and control the ones I love romantically. I am happier for it.

Back to the sex work thing. Do you ever hear someone say about a daycare worker ‘I hope they don’t have kids. They would never truly be able to parent a child after working with kids and caring for kids all day long.’ No, you never hear that. Because childcare is not stigmatized the way sex work is. Sex can mean different things depending on the context. When I am with a lover, I am completely with them. When I am at work, I am performing a role, either a theatrical or therapeutic role, depending on the circumstances. All it means is I have had a lot of opportunity to hone my skills, which makes my lovers veeery happy indeed.

A sex worker has no respect for herself:

I have noticed that the term ‘respecting yourself’ when used in relation to women, simply means ‘act like a good girl according to the patriarchy.’ In my mind, a woman who chooses to engage in sex for her own reasons, provided she is not harming others in the process, is very much respecting herself and owning her desires. I would not be respecting myself if I had no boundaries in the sex work that I do, if I allowed clients to forego protection, if I did not speak up when they did things that put me at physical or psychological risk. As I practice sex work now, I have deep self-respect.

A sex worker has no skills. That’s the only reason she would do this work.

This one really gets to me. Sex work is skilled work. It is an art form to be truly good at sex. It takes practice and time and effort to learn the skills. Plus the interpersonal skills, conversation, reading people, figuring out what they want and need from a session. The ability to communicate about difficult topics and deal with challenging situations such as a client processing a trauma, or wanting to explore a kink that you are not as knowledgeable about as you’d like to be. The skills in this work are considerable. They are just not acknowledged because sex is seen as dirty, disgusting and trivial.

Sex work is dangerous and therefore should not be allowed:

A lot of work is dangerous. Being a miner is dangerous. Being a police officer is dangerous. Being a social worker can be dangerous. The difference is that we don’t stigmatize miners for being in a dangerous profession. Condoms and lube and gloves and dams are the hard hats of the sex industry. Please think of us as another profession that requires work safety knowledge. Thanks.

Also, a lot of other interpersonal situations are statistically dangerous. Marriage is statistically dangerous with 30 percent of female murder victims being killed by their current or former husbands. Dating is dangerous. Romantic relationships are dangerous. Abusive types exist. However, we never tell women to stop dating or stop getting married, because marriage and dating are seen as socially acceptable activities for a woman. Sex work, however, is seen as subversive and threatening, so it is painted as often more dangerous than it actually is in an effort to scare women away from working in that industry, because a sexually and financially independent woman won’t make you a sandwich just because you want her to.

That has been my sex worker related rant for today. Thank you for listening.