November 30


Motherfucking Fuck Fuck: A Rant On Pay for Play


Does the imminent approach of the holidays mean that everyone has lost their goddamn minds? I have had the same conversation like fifty times this fucking week. And what’s worse is these conversations are with totally decent people who are just, what, clueless? Or very charming about how much of a cunt they are. Take your pick.


Firstly, please reference this book: Paying For It, A Guide By Sex Workers For Their Clients just in general, to know things. Just read it.

So. Here it is. Get ready.

When a sex worker asks you for payment, it is not a personal insult. It just isn’t. You should not take it as a personal insult. That’s fucking weird. And if you have a problem with the idea of sex work, or paying a sex worker, WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO A SEX WORKER AND ASKING HIM/HER TO DO SEX WORK AT YOU?

Would you ask, say, a yoga teacher to work for free? Probably not. Because that is a job people expect to get paid for, and just maybe, worked hard to become a skilled in. Sex work is the same. It’s a skilled profession that, like yoga, requires overhead in clothing, equipment, and often training.

A common, very common (especially this week?) totally infuriating thing is this: A person (I would say client but the nature of this post is that the people this applies to aren’t fucking paying, so they don’t meet the basic qualifications for being a client) wants to know if you “have chemistry” before they consent to paying you. They want a free intro session/date/whatever, and if it goes well, maybe later you can “work something out.”



This isn’t a fucking audition. We are not auditioning for you. We aren’t going to show-up to your (wherever – house, hotel, skype window) and put on a dog and pony show to maybe win your affections to MAYBE earn the absolute privilege of getting fucking paid one day, perhaps, in the future, possibly.

You have some serious balls, my friend, asking someone who has an hourly fee, to deal with your ass pro-bono. Sex Worker and “Easy” are actually sort of opposites. We aren’t easy. We require something pretty tangible and definite (mo-ney) before you whip out your pencil dick. We reject people constantly, all the time, because we are not easy. We are at motherfucking work. And we may love our jobs, just as yoga instructors may, but it’s a goddamn job.

You wouldn’t waltz in Macy’s and try to steal a bunch of shit under the manager’s nose WITH their permission, and get pissed if they weren’t happy about it, so why are you trying to steal from us? Do you not get that our time and talent ARE our products? YOU ARE TRYING TO STEAL FROM US AND EXPECT US TO BE GIDDY ABOUT IT! This is not an exaggeration. You. Are. Trying. To. Steal. From. Us.

I know, I get it – Part of your fantasy is that we love what we do so much, and are so hot for you, that we just want to do this all day every day out of sheer joy, and the payment part is quiet, fast, and not talked about, so you can continue to feel like you aren’t actually paying. And to that I say: WHATEVER. If you are reading this, and know me, or wish to know me, please make a note this very second that I am never going to facilitate your fantasy that I am… unemployed? Really into topping middle-aged men with receding hairlines I barely know and super thankful for their generous donations to my shoe fund? Fuck that. I can’t hand my landlord a fucking pair of shoes at the first of the month, you moron. You either respect and appreciate that I’m a sex worker who is awesome at her job, or you can go find some sugarbaby that doesn’t understand boundaries and will fucking ruin your marriage. How bout’ them apples?

ANNNNND if you are reading this, and are one of the fifty men who have been writing me this week with this nonsense – It’s not that I hate you. It’s that I hate your ultimately disrespectful requests. I resent, for sure, you trying to fleece me in my own industry, (or at the very least not taking any time to understand what the nature of my industry even IS, but still wanting in, ) and I’m trying to be understanding here (sort of) but fuck you for thinking you’re a special princess and deserve, for no reason, my lunch hour – because I am at work, dude.

We can totally have a great time together, but not when your opener is “I’m here to rob you.”