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PorterMeek61
Tosstalstrasse 43
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He knew I was a sex worker. It says so, right in my own Bumble profile: retired media whore, current actual whore. He'd even commented about it, using what every woman longs to listen to from a romantic interest:'Haha, נערות ליווי nice ;) '. And yet I watched as his face contorted directly into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the truth of my profession came crashing down around him like a tonne of bricks.

"That is a lot," he said, and he then rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.

It often surprises people to know that sex workers do a number of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in the real world after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we've dinner with our families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with this internet service providers for what feels as though hours.

It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at the job will be enough to replace a possible insufficient intimate connection within our lives outside of work; so most of us also date, with varied quantities of success.

A few months ago, I ended a relationship with a man I have been seeing for almost two years. In private, he was an enormous supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune did actually change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "That is Kate..." the silence that hung in the space where, "...my girlfriend," should have been weighed a tonne.

I don't believe that he personally had a problem with me being truly a sex worker, but I do believe that the likelihood of other people judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to create him want to help keep me a secret.

So I've recently downloaded some dating apps and put myself back on the proverbial market, but it's tough. Along with the usual questions one ponders before a romantic date (What do I wear? Where shall we go?) I find myself asking such things as, "At what point do we have the talk?"

The talk by which I clarify my job, re-explain my profession in case my date didn't read my Bumble bio, forgot what it said, or – worse – thought it was a joke. Do I tell him the moment we meet, or before we say goodnight? Or do I throw it out randomly on the course of the evening: "Wow, this wine is delicious. In addition, I'm a hooker. Pass the salt?"

The best dream scenario is that my date is supportive, and happy that I've found a line of work that I love and supports me financially. Unfortunately, this has only happened once – once! – so these days, I find that a lot of responses fall somewhere within abject fascination and outright objectification.

Sometimes I end up on the receiving end of a lot of rapid-fire questions ("What's the weirdest thing you've ever done at work? Have you ever had a celebrity client? Are the people all old and ugly? They're not, like, normal guys like me, are they?") which נערות ליווי בנתניה is better than horrified silence, but leaves me feeling like I've just been interviewed for an hour.

Other times, my date can barely contain their disgust, quizzing me over and over again about how precisely frequently I get my sexual health checks done and if I'm sure I'm not a carrier of some mutant strain of gonorrhoea.

"That's all very well and good," one man said, over coffee, "But obviously if you sought out with me, you'd have to acquire a real job. And you couldn't tell anyone we know that you used to work." You should probably Google me before you receive too attached to that idea, I desired to sneer.

Needless to say, even the crudest line of questioning is a better case scenario compared to very real threat of violence that many sex workers face when speaking about their job. I have friends who've been followed home and stalked by men who couldn't understand why their date with a sex worker didn't end with a romp, and others who've had partners show up at their work in a spontaneous fit of jealousy, viciously demanding they empty their locker and return home using them immediately.

And even that is preferable to the possibility of physical violence from a romantic partner. I once proceeded a romantic date with a man who invited me around his bedroom, held me down as he initiated sex with out a condom, and then read among my very own articles, about sex work, aloud if you ask me as I lay silently next to him.

Dating isn't easy for anyone. Even the act of experiencing to distil your complete person into a brief and snappy paragraph fit for a dating app will do to produce anyone want to purge their hands and surrender to a life of solitude.

Still, I rely on love, and I am aware from past experiences that relationships – when they're good – are worth every struggle.

On the times when it's all a lot of, I find myself thankful for the easy, stress-free nature of transactional sex. An hour or so on the clock and a peck on the cheek to state a fond goodbye until the next time: if only finding love was as simple.

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