So … I’ve decided to get back into sex work.
Apart from a brief spell at Bon Ton in Wellington almost 3 years ago, I have not “worked” since before it was legalised. Back then there was a host of things to worry about, namely arrest and public exposure in the court pages of the newspaper. (Yes, it happened to a friend of mine.) Oh and of course, there is always murder. As well as that, you could do nothing with your money, although a couple of friends of mine did manage to buy property, with the help of clients usually whose professional contacts managed to get them in on that ladder by fudging their employment realities.
As for me, I left originally the first time due to health issues, and thanks to a generous client who, back in the heady “greed is good” days, sent me a sizeable cheque as a tip, which did not bounce. This set me up for not having to work for a year and included enough for a world trip for six months, and it was in London, where I briefly worked, that I stumbled across the Prostitutes Collective, having never heard of such a thing before then, I still have my badge for the fight towards decriminalisation – “No bad women, just bad laws”.
The second time I decided to leave I made a better crack at it. But like the large tip, hundred dollar bills stashed away in a bank safe deposit box, (which is what you did, back in the day) doesn’t last forever. Next I found myself trying to start a career with limited skills, (luckily though I had kept my hand in as far as my non-sex-related interests go), but I had no CV for the previous 4 years.
Fortune did smile on me, and once I got myself sorted, I had a very happy domestic and working life, until the small matter of an earthquake in Christchurch a few years back. Luckily my property was not so damaged, but the company I worked for did take a turn for the worse, and now I only work part time.
Despite the difficulties when it used to be illegal, with very few ways to sell sex, I have always looked back on my years as a sex worker fondly. I have even kept in touch with a few of my old sisters, even though all of us have gone on different paths. I met some amazing men, a couple of creeps too, but all in all, a wonderful bunch of interesting people and some I would never have rubbed shoulders (or rubbed covered pink bits with either) had it not been for sex work. And then it was the actual work – imagine getting paid extraordinarily well for something you love to do!
Picasso said, find something you love to do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. If only it could be that easy.
I’m under no illusions that this will be a bed of roses. I am starting from the beginning, from scratch, as a mature sex worker. Luckily I have looked after my body and my skin and neither have I let myself get too cynical. But is there a market for a sensual beauty such as I? Time will tell. It’s onwards and upwards from here on in.