Snippet from a conversation I had recently: “If you already hate yourself when you get into sex work, you’ll have bad experiences, because you won’t be able to tell when someone is treating you inappropriately until it’s too late.”

I mused yesterday, as I often do, how happy I am with the clients I have. Not just because some of them are sweet enough to give me beautiful gifts, although those are nice. But there’s something eternally charming about having a man just light up when you come into the room, stare at you with ardent appreciation and tell you, every time he sees you, and with obvious sincerity, how beautiful and wonderful and amazing he thinks you are. Even when one is a trifle cranky – as I have been the last day or so – how could my ruffled fur not be smoothed by such silky strokes? Purrrrr.....

I suppose it is a measure of my ego that I think this is precisely how I should be treated. So call me spoiled, but I believe that expecting to be valued and treated well – and accepting nothing less – is the reason why my experience as a sex worker has been positive rather than negative.

The praise and fervor of my boys is not the basis of my self-esteem – that comes from a deeper place in me. But it’s a very sweet frosting on my cake.