Be Nice to Your Sex Worker

Let's face it, most of us sex workers lead double lives. We call ourselves "Mandy", "Suzette", or "Trixie" while we're working and adopt a certain personality to match our chosen name. It is often done to keep our anonymity in a line of work that is viewed with shame and embarrassment to those in the "real" world. (I'm not saying this applies to me, just the preconceived notion.) We hope not to run into our clients during our non-sex work lives, but if we do, we also hope they don't expose us or call us by our working names. Sex workers keep a lot of secrets and all we can do is hope that our clients like to keep secrets too. Yes, it's one of the downsides of this job.

I have what I call several sex work "nightmares." Obviously, getting arrested or facing bodily harm are the on there, as is being exposed to my parents or family, going to see a client and have it be someone I know (I usually screen so this doesn't happen), and lastly, running into a former client in my "straight" work life. All of these nightmares could potentially happen at some point, and except being arrested, I've been able to avoid all of the four some time now. Until yesterday, that is.

About two or three years ago, I went to see a client for a massage call that I booked through my own agency. I didn't have anyone to send at the time, so I did the job myself. He was a younger guy, looked to be mid to late twenties, with bad acne and an evil face. His name was rude right off the bat (this is why sex workers hate younger guys) and didn't even exchange pleasantries with me. Luckily, I collected the money up front and we retreated to his bedroom where I attempted to give him a regular massage. Instead, he kept pleading for me to give him a blowjob, and after I turned him down, he offered me $20. Sensing this guy was a total asshole, I told him I don't do that and tried to hurry along and get him off so I could get out. As I looked down at the guy's messy floor, I noticed the one thing that stopped me in my tracks-recent paperwork from my college, the same department as my major. How can a college student afford this, I thought? Now I really couldn't stand this guy.

The call ended badly, with the guy unable to get off from my interrupted handjob and me hurrying out the door, pissed off and nervous that I might actually run into this guy again. He actually called the minute I reached my car, thinking he had reached the agency number, and left a voice mail message demanding his money back or a complimentary session with another girl to make up for what a terrible time he had. Hey, his time was up and he couldn't get off. Not my fault.

Sure enough, my greatest fears became a reality about a month later when I spotted this loser in the stairwell of my school one day smoking a cigarette. I immediately turned around and went the other way up the stairs but I think he spotted me and did a double take. For the rest of the year I was paranoid of running into him again and scanned all hallways and stairwells before going anywhere at school. It would have been one thing if the two of us had actually got on well and could have come to a mutual agreement to keep our mouths shut, but this guy was a dickhead I never wanted to see again and surely couldn't trust.

Fast forward to present day. I'm now graduated from college and working freelance in the film industry. I get a phone call about a week ago from a guy stating his name is "Keith" wanting to hire me to run sound on a semi-corporate job that weekend at a high school. He's extremely nice on the phone, explains he's a recent graduate who's trying to start his own production company, has an 8-year old daughter, and even tells me the budget for this one day project, which is extremely low. Still, he offers to pay me a decent rate for the day and offers to rent my camera for the project as well, giving me a little bit more money. I accept the gig and exchange several calls with him over the week. Each time I talk to him, he sounds extremely nice, professional, and very cool to work with.

Still, in the back of my mind I know I recognized his name. That client I saw a few years back had a name really similar to his, but I just can't fathom these two guys being the same person. This Keith is super friendly and is old enough to have an 8 year-old kid; client Keith was rude and seemed fairly young. I search for my old client files and appointment books, but realized I threw a bunch of them away over the years when I updated my books. I couldn't find the one that had his name in it to confirm whether or not this was the same guy. I suspected it may be him, but was willing to take my chances that it wasn't.

The day of the job, I drive to the location, about an hour out of the city. I'm the first one to arrive and wait in the high school parking lot nervously with all my equipment out so he will recognize me. Ten minutes later he walks up to my car to greet me and sure enough, it's him. Client Keith, the scary lookin' dude I never wanted to see again. And I have to spend the next twelve hours with him.

In an even more surreal twist, he then introduces me to his Mom, who drove him there, and his eight year old daughter, who appeared to have some kind of problem with her eyes. I felt really bad for her, having a guy like this for a father. Next, his two buddies (partners) showed up in a beaten down Oldsmobile, with huge grins on their faces after finding out I was going to be their sound gal for the day. Mike, a chubby Italian, was the only halfway decent one of the bunch. The camera guy, Andy, looked like an even dorkier version of "Cousin Oliver" from the Brady Bunch and had the personality of an earthworm.

I could tell this was going to be a long day.

I'm not sure if Keith recognized me right off the bat, but as the day went on, I could tell he figured it out. My hair is a different color now, but after spending 12 hours with someone who your memory starts to kick in. I tried not to look at him too much throughout the day, but after awhile I could sense him staring at me and figured he probably remembered. What I'm not positive about is whether or not he said anything to his buddies, who were friendly to me, but looked at me kind of strangely at times. Maybe it's just my own paranoia because everyone I've talked to about this situation, male and female, has insisted there's no way he told his buddies that he paid someone to give him a handjob two years back.

The job was for a promotion "video brochure" for a high school singing group and it was apparent right off the bat that these guys were unprofessional and had no idea what they were doing. Keith was complaining about the project from the beginning and the camera guy, Andy, was asking me how to use the camera, what kind of shots he should do, etc. Mike, the director/interviewer, didn't have any questions prepared for the interviewees. Basically, I was the only one who knew what they were doing and these guys knew it. Mike commented that I was doing "a great job". I told him "but you haven't even heard the sound yet", but he said it seemed like I really knew what I was doing. Or maybe it's because they didn't.

Then, about two hours into our shoot came the kicker. Impressed by my equipment and knowledge, Keith announced "we're calling you first next time for future projects", as the other guys nodded in agreement. Oh god. I don't know if my eyeballs popped out of my head, but I felt a certain sense of reprisal. As flattered as I was, did I really want to work with these losers again?

Even better, throughout the day, the guys kept asking me for advice on how to do things and were impressed with my extensive resume. Mike, the chubby one, kept asking to hold my boom poles, as if it was too heavy for a girl to hold all day long. I think he developed a bit of a crush on me as the day went on and seemed to spend a lot of his downtime coming over and flirting with me. Keith was actually very polite and professional to me all day and reminded me of what a great job I was doing.

Finally, as we wrapped things up, the camera guy, Andy, asked for my business card and gave them out to all three guys. Then, like a little puppy dog, Mike asked if they could follow me home because they didn't know how they got there (they followed Keith's Mom on the ride there) and were afraid they'd get lost on the way home. Plus, he added "it's pretty late and you shouldn't be driving alone." No way, did I want these dorks riding behind me all the way. I said I needed to stop off and get gas, but that I'd give them my Mapquest directions from my car. They brought my equipment out to my car and just stood there, looking lost and upset, until I shook both of their hands and said goodbye only manage to throw a wave at Keith, who seemed to finally be confronting his guilt from that one night a few years back. I like to think he learned his lesson.

Quite honestly, I don't know what Keith really took away from this whole experience. Possibly he may never use the services of a sex worker again or if he does, he might be a little friendlier to his provider. Maybe he learned that sex workers are everywhere, not just hiding under a rock waiting to come out at night, but working their way through college or just earning a little money on the side. You never know when you're going to run into one.Or where. Or when you'll be turning to one for help.

What started out as a potentially mortifying experience for me turned into an empowering one. It was a big challenge for me to face one of my greatest fears, but in the end I was the one who had more knowledge and more prepared to deal with the situation on hand. There's no greater feeling as a sex worker than being able to turn the tables on a client and show him that you're not a stereotype, but a strong, intelligent woman willing living her life the way she wants to.

That, to me, is sweet revenge.