Slutty McWhore

There comes a point in every new romantic relationship when the first flush of romance fades and you begin to see your beloved's true colours. I've often fallen asleep beside a kind, considerate and handsome man only to awake next to a selfish, misogynistic, foul-smelling dickhead. This sudden and disconcerting transformation generally seems to occur somewhere around the three-to-six-months mark, which strikes me as rather a long time to have wasted establishing a man's dickhead credentials. If only there were a quicker, less painful method, I hear you cry! Well, there is! And it's far more effective than asking probing questions about ex-girlfriends, his mother, or the porn stash under the bed. Take it from me – there is nothing quite like announcing that you earn your living as a sex worker for testing a man's attitude towards women and sex.

On one particularly memorable occasion, my ‘confession’ resulted in a stunned, disgusted silence, broken only by a sneering announcement from my ‘beloved’ that he knew all about ‘my kind’ because he, too, was heavily involved in the sex industry. Apparently, he was a regular at the sauna round the corner from his flat, and would occasionally also pick up Glaswegian streetwalkers with a couple of friends. He had nothing but contempt for sex workers, clearly believing that there were only two kinds of women - the ‘good girls’ who became girlfriends, and the ‘bad girls’ who were only there to be fucked. Fortunately, this was the first and last time my honesty met with such a sexist reaction, but he certainly wasn't the only man I've been involved with, either platonically or romantically, who admitted to having slept with prostitutes. Indeed, many men often seem to feel relieved when I tell them about my past because this gives them a chance to confess their own ‘sins’ and rid themselves of any residual guilt. 

It struck me as very interesting that these men only unburdened themselves after I had revealed my past, and would, presumably, have otherwise felt no qualms about keeping this side of their sexual history hidden from their partners. I, on the other hand, have always had an almost obsessive need to be honest, which is perhaps not as healthy as I would like to think. It has occurred to me that I am perhaps still very much in thrall to patriarchal ideology and, subconsciously, think of myself as ‘tainted’. When I tell new boyfriends about my involvement in the sex industry, could it be that I am perhaps not looking for emotional honesty, but rather some form of atonement?

Michael, the new guy I'm seeing, took the news of my unusual career rather well. He is obviously an open-minded person, but his tolerance only goes so far. He has told me that I will have to give up erotic massage if we are going to have a committed relationship. It doesn't matter to him that the job doesn't turn me on, and that I don't have an emotional connection to my clients. The romantic idealist in me wants to give up massage immediately to please him, but my rational, feminist side feels resentful and angry. Traditionally, women have always been the ones to sacrifice everything for their men, and I have no desire to tread such a well-worn, clichéd path. The sex industry gives me financial security and choices, and it would be incredibly gullible and naive even to think about giving that up for a man I've known for only five weeks. Why can't there be a way for a girl to combine happiness and handjobs?