“t’s problematic to posit oneself as a happy whore.  You run the risk of grumbly sorts saying you don’t speak for the majority, you speak from a place of privilege. Well I do speak from a place of privilege, and so do you; and I’ve no idea if my voice is in the majority or not, and nor do you. More crucially, however, I feel confident my story is no less important for being privileged or unrepresentative. Sex workers are all different; ergo, all unrepresentative. Most humans, slutty or not, tend to lean on established story arcs to explain themselves, and in none of mine am I ever a victim. More usually I relate instead to Thomas Hardy’s Ruined Maid:

— "You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream, 

And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem 

To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!" — 

"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she. 

— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown, 

And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" — 

"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be, 

Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she. 

I am ruined, and lively with it, and likely to remain so. But this type of ruined is not the preferred narrative of the mainstream media.  Instead, sex workers are seen, simultaneously, as fragile victims desperately in need of rescue, while also being capable of destroying the fabric of society. Well, that’s a bloody good trick. It reminds me of those immigrants who are taking all the benefits while also taking all the jobs. Impressive stuff: surely we can find space on our crappy little island for newcomers capable of such wizardry.

When covid struck a lot of hand-wringing articles appeared in the Guardian et al about how poor sex workers were now all going to starve to death, as though we were rats caught in a trap of our own making, so accustomed to pushing a lever to produce a pellet that we would simply keel over if said lever stopped producing pellets. Well, maybe some did. That’s sad for their friends, I guess, but also Darwinian in its inevitability. No one I know starved to death. We are a resourceful, resilient bunch, accustomed to no one taking care of us; we promptly moved our businesses online, souping up our onlyfans and twitter, getting websites, selling our dirty knickers and ripped tights, setting subs lines to write, slaves absurd tasks;  we offered custom porn we could film on our phones, JOI, scolding videos and such; writing erotica, and on, and on. I started selling face masks smeared with pussy juice. Enterprising eh? Some of my lovelier clients started sending me furlough payments to compensate for the sessions they’d missed, and I sent them photos and warm loving emails of gratitude in part recompense.

 I didn’t starve. I’d back me against a butcher’s cockroach. 

In fact, none of my pals starved either. But when I wrote to the BBC and the Guardian and the Mirror and the Independent to point this out, no one wanted to know. They liked their version of the desperate, sad, lonely whore risking her health by breaking the rules, or facing destitution. Like I say, I’m sure those whores are out there. But there is a different story not being told. And like I say, stories matter. So here is mine: six months after covid struck I was back to earning what I used to earn in 2019, when punters’ breath was merely unpleasant rather than potentially fatal.

There are 73000 sex workers in the UK, they reckon, although obviously no one really has a clue, but let’s go with the official figures: around 0.1% of the general population. That’s tons.  They will be parents, students, interns, disabled, mentally ill, every colour and religion; they will be dirt poor and fabulously wealthy, educated and ignorant; they will be happy in their work and wretched in their work. They will form a microcosm of society, in short. They will not all be anything at all, aside from sex workers. Any generalisation you make will possess zillions of exceptions. 

This matters, because when every story about sex work is negative it tends to impact on the political sphere. Sex work becomes a problem to be resolved. Often, sex workers also become a problem to be eradicated. When half a dozen Asian sex workers were killed recently in Atlanta, the killer cited his ‘sex addiction’ and desire to eradicate temptation as explanation for his crimes. Killing evil whores becomes equivalent to a problem gambler smashing up a slot machine.

Sex workers are not a universally pathetic, tragic blot on society, nor are we evil deviants destroying the minds and morals of decent folk. We are human beings, varied, unique, fabulous. Stop showing me a version of my story I cannot recognise, while refusing to acknowledge mine.