Updated: Jan 8
For people who struggle to read white on black, read this on Medium instead,
Unlike many street sex workers, I didn’t get into the industry out of poverty.
Unlike many high-class escorts, I didn’t get into the industry for the love of sex, attention and material things.
Unlike many male sex workers, I didn’t get into the industry to shag everything with eyes and a decently moist hole.
I got into sex work because I read a book and watched a TV show during a time of severe trauma. The media latched itself on to the DID-riddled brain and created a new alter from the show. With her creation came a whole new path inside this brain, inside the vivid inner life, for me, a well-established system member who had very little going on in life, inside and out.
Does this confuse you? I don’t doubt it. For those of you who don’t know MR System or DID, you need to know one thing.
I didn’t get into sex work out of love for sex nor money. I entered the industry because two pieces of media made it look shiny and fun, and it was — but only because I was an elite escort, and a fetish at that.
I started sex work as a virgin.
To the outside world, this system is asexual. We’ve never desired anything sexual, not even a kiss. We made this clear from early childhood, when the system started forming. While everyone else was running around and stealing childhood kisses, we were making this face:
I wrote about our exterior asexuality once; I’ll see if I can find the article. The point is: we’re asexual out here.
Inside our headspace? There are a few asexuals, but most of us aren’t, and many of us are paired off with each other. That led to a masturbatory fury, but that’s as sexual as we got.
I wrote an article about our various masturbation attempts as we explored our intersex body — you’ll find it here, whenever it’s published, but it may be a while.
But basically, the only sexual experiences we had out here were:
Frantically pawing at a teenie weenie a tad too small to be called a micropenis.
Shoving a doll’s leg up a semi-formed vaginal opening that leads to nowhere and contains nothing.
Putting stuff in an ass, stuff that was absolutely not ass-safe.
Step one of starting sex work: hire a sex worker.
How was a virgin supposed to fuck for profit? It didn’t make sense. So, when I made the decision to get things started, I hired two escorts: a woman and a man.
Here’s what I discovered:
I dislike the taste of vagina.
Dicks taste fine.
French kissing is stupid but I have no problems with it.
Don’t touch my tiny dick.
Stay away from my pothole.
Feel free to shove stuff up my ass, forever.
Pubes are prickly.
I’m a dom.
Man, I love fucking people.
I wish I didn’t need a tool to fuck people — dick why doth thou not groweth.
No, it’s not as fun to rub my tiny dick on a clit as it is to rub it on scratchy fabric, but it made her happy I guess.
I will never swallow, and I will only suck a dick if it has a condom on it.
Damn dude, I really have no nipple sensation.
With several sessions with both workers under my belt, having read and watched a fuck ton of erotica and with the last of my savings blown on sexy male and female underwear … I was in.
Step two of starting sex work: find representation.
Not only did I use my newfound paid fuckbuddies to learn sex, I used them to worm my way into the business, and their agency. Without naming the agency, it was a group that specialized in fetishism.
Fetishes included age play, BDSM, ABDL, fucking food, piss/scat, ladyboy/shemale, sissy play, intersex genetalia, feet and feederism. Well shit, intersex genetalia! I was in.
I also apologise for the words used after “piss/scat” — that’s what the agency called it.
The woman got me an interview with her agent and after some negotiation, I was in.
The agent handled pictures, promotion and set me up with several other intersex people within the agency, one of whom who did what I’d be doing: playing a man and a woman interchangeable. He talked me through what clients usually expected, and within a week I had my first regular.
Step three: working.
Here’s the part where you think I’m going to tell you juicy stories about clients, isn’t it? I’m sorry to say you’re mistaken. I’m reserving that for my book series, Into The Sky Box where one of the characters has a stint as a female sex worker, and the other had a stint as a male one.
I’ll spoil a few things for you. Those stories involve:
A room so grotesque I had a vivid daydream that John was fucking me in the hanous shower as I cried.
An ABDL client who shit himself without permission and tried to tackle me; he ended up “falling” down the stairs. He wasn’t injured.
A woman who could suck her own clitoris and wanted her vagina fingered while she did it.
A man who liked to shove unpeeled bananas up his ass, push them out and eat them.
There were plenty of vanilla clients too, of course. A lot of men who wanted to fuck someone with a tiny dick and “boobs” (gnaecomastia in my case) because then it wasn’t gay. The next appointment they’d fuck me as a woman, to make it even less gay. Nice try bucko, your dick is still in my ass and I have almost as much testosterone as you.
I didn’t particularly enjoy the sex in any of the encounters, but I liked the ones where I got to roleplay, dominate or both. I enjoyed playing various characters from film or television, but I also enjoyed playing the non-sexual parental figure to age players. You know, the ones that stayed within the pre-set boundaries and didn’t shit themselves … although, that guy wasn’t age playing. He just wanted to have someone hump him while he was chilling in his own piss.
Another aspect I enjoyed was the interaction, the frankness of it all, how there were never any secrets and I got to hear peoples’ deepest fantasies. Even if some of those fantasies were petrifying to the point I’m going to use them in my horror novella, Presidential Fantasies.
Most of all, I enjoyed how gender did not exist when I was working with these clients. One day I was a man, then I’d spend a week as a woman, two as a man, then I’d be both within a day. It was a total social fuck and I could do whatever I wanted and neither clients nor I cared about the specifics.
Really, the fucking was just a technicality. I learned enough to transition from sex work into writing erotica for $1 a word, but that’s about all I got from the sexual aspects.
I just loved playing pretend, playing gender bend, and playing with peoples’ balls because balls are fucking funny. I wish my nut wasn’t up in me like I was dipped in ice water and scared into utter terror.
Plus, I made friends with a few of the clients, one of whom saved my life years later. You can read about that here.
Do I think my experience would’ve been worse were I not with an elite agency? Absofuckinglutely. These clients were wealthy, vetted and mostly charming. I particularly loved one older woman who made me feel like the client, her the escort. She spoiled her boy toy and her lady lover.
Incidentally, she was my first and my last client.
Leaving Sex Work
I’m not getting into why I left sex work, but it was neither a welcome nor unwelcome goodbye. When I left I retired from sex, if you don’t count constant sexual discussions and innuendos with friends because we’re all fucked up. The other day we had an ongoing joke conversation about incest. We are deranged.
However, when I left sex work I didn’t leave the adult industry.
I was writing romantic erotica for up to $10,000 a day at one point, and once made $20,000 in one sitting for writing straight up gay porn. I did a few sex toy reviews for independent bloggers, and some deep dives into ED medications, their ingredients, and determined whether they’re bullshit or not.
Then I was out of it for a few years. No sexual content whatsoever, until a handful of articles through an SEO agency in 2020. In mid-2020 I picked up another client, writing for a sexual website, but it ended later that year. I think we probably had conflicting ideas. What they seemed to want was my second idea for articles.
That said, it was only two articles that required almost 100 percent rewrites and one was the first one I did for them. The rest were just tweaks and edits that decreased as time went on and I adapted to the style they seemed to be looking for. I didn’t enjoy the style or tone, but loved the content and how much they cared about it.
My most recent venture back into the sex work world is writing a book called The Ultimate Guyde to Male Pleasure (wip). I may also write a female version, who knows. I also have a niggling idea about one for transgender and non-binary people, based on a handful of clients I had, and my experience with them.
I enjoy how open-minded my stint as an elite, fetish sex worker made me, and all the fun-facts it put in my mind. Oh, and the stories. Lots of stories, most of which I’ll never tell.
So now I’ll sign off, and get back to my Ultimate Guyde. This was my procrastination from it. Such fun.
And as I said to each client at the end of every session, laters x