Month: March 2023

It’s tax season and this time of year has taken on new meaning since joining the industry. When I started, I was dead set on evading taxes. How would the IRS know? I was paid predominantly in cash and Cash app/Venmo was still unsupervised to some degree. I thought about the people who I had known to deal drugs and used exclusively Venmo and Cashapp for business. They didn’t seem too concerned about the government coming down on them. I also saw not paying taxes as a way to condemn the government, especially TN which is the state I started working in. I didn’t want my hard earned money to go to cops or any policy that was actively trying to fuck over marginalized people. Plus, wouldn’t reporting my income out me? One of the few resources I had in TN was a badass swer in her 40’s who had started in the industry a few years before I did. We met up in person one time, and I paid her for her labor as she generously gave away crucial lessons she had learned as a worker.  

“Girl, the IRS doesn’t care if you’re a hoe. They care that you pay your taxes,” she told me as we sat and ate papa johns at my kitchen table.

But I wasn’t convinced. And after she told me she paid $1200 every 4 months or so in taxes, I made up my mind that I would not be doing such a thing. I was also vastly ignorant of tax preparation and wanted to stay in the dark about it as much as I could. Though I was paranoid the IRS would come after me due to the many nondescript payments via Cashapp, I rationalized it. 

After moving to NY, I was stuck with an ethical dilemma. I was made aware of the numerous social services that the state and city could provide for its people. Public transportation, health insurance, other services that indicated that NY cared more about its people than TN did. And don’t think I’m not aware of the complaints and the real and violent ways the NY government fucks over people all the time- especially the homeless. Not to mention the military force that is the NYPD where unimaginable amounts of tax dollars go. But relatively speaking, it was better than TN in many ways. And the right thing would be to pay for my share as well, right? 

One of the first relationships I had in NY was with a former Hasidic man and let me tell you- this man was a heartbreaker. Even sidelocks triggered me for weeks after our breakup. It was hard for me to go to Bushwick and parts of Crown Heights for a while. But before breaking my heart, he taught me all about tax evasion. I am now convinced he was a part of some sort of Hasidic mafia. Putting together what I know about the dwindling Italian mafia via Sopranos and a mob boss I had as a previous client, looking back, there was something shady going on. 

Let’s call him Sam. Sam and I connected online and agreed to meet for a spa day in NJ. Keep in mind that I didn’t really know what a real spa was before coming to NY. He purchased a car for me too and I met him at the exquisite spa which had five different levels of saunas, heated pools and waterfalls. I was highly impressed. I even got butterflies when I saw him for the first time. He was beautiful, young, and held himself confidently. He was too good to be true. I thought he was Icelandic when he started to speak. I couldn’t place his accent but he had bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair. Scandinavian I thought. I asked him where his accent was from, but he ended up revealing to me he was from a way of life I knew little about.

 Sam was born into the Spring Valley “cult”- his word not mine- which is a dense Hasidic community in upstate New York. He told me about the poor education system in his hometown. He said, “if you want to know how to do something archaic like purchase and take care of ram, the education is absolutely valuable. But besides that, we had no real education outside of religious texts.” During his childhood, he defiantly read books, learned English and became acquainted with the outside world which culminated in his exit after he was married to a woman at the age of nineteen. After his departure, he even garnered public support and went after Hasid men who threatened their wives with violence when they tried to leave their abusive marriages. He told me that the Hasidic community was a cult because anyone who tried to leave or defy the principles were condemned. 

So why did he still do business with them I wondered. One evening as we met before a Broadway show at his office at the Brooklyn Navy Yards, he filed out with other Hasid men into the parking lot. Though he lacked a long black coat and top hat, a kippah sat on his head. At my confused expression, he promptly pulled it off and threw it in the backseat as we got into his car. “Forgot I had that on,” he said passively. I did not know what to say so I said nothing.

As we dripped sweat at one of the many saunas we visited, he taught me about tax evasion. “You must get an LLC,” he advised, “it’s easy to apply, you just have to pay a small fee. I have LLC’s that pay for my LLC’s,” he bragged. I asked him if he feared the IRS coming after him and he assured me that I was in a great position as I had never paid taxes before. 

“Think of it like this, if you never get into the pool, the IRS doesn’t know you exist, but once you get into the pool, they’ll know you.” So essentially he was saying- don’t pay taxes. Amazing. That was my plan exactly and now I had the research to back it up. 

I started falling for him that first day we met at the spa. We had not met through an escort-exclusive platform but it was still sex work adjacent. A place where sugar babies could find a daddy-essentially. And though he flaunted his sex positively- his familiarity with non monogamy and play party scenes- I had a gut feeling he did not want to date a hooker so I didn’t tell him at first.

My primary partner and I ended our relationship shortly after Sam and I met. He was not exactly the reason as we had an open relationship but my romantic feelings did not help. My ex was the first person I ever loved fully, but we couldn’t be together anymore. It was traumatic so I put all my hopes in Sam to cope. I even imagined what it would be like visiting for weekends on his huge estate in Jersey. He had a four year old whom he shared with a previous partner. Was I ready to get domestic and ditch my big city dreams so soon? I considered it. So when we laid on a hotel bed in SoHo, I told Sam what I really did. I told him I was the hourly type, not just a curious girl who was interested in spa dates every few weeks. He scooted away from me and considered this new information. 

This really let him down. He thought I was a good girl, as he had called me many times before. But no longer. He told me he couldn’t date someone like me. “I was looking for a second girlfriend but I’m not interested in dating a woman that is so sexually active. The girl I date in Jersey is very inexperienced and reserved and I like that a lot.” Essentially, I was too dirty for him. Can you imagine? A man who grew up in the Hasidic community thinking a girl was dirty for having sex? My chest grew heavy and tight. I wanted to sob and beg him to reconsider. But we had an appointment for a couples massage in Korea Town in thirty minutes and goddamnit, I deserved a massage after this devastating interaction. I held in tears as we drove to the spa. After receiving our massages, an attendant gave us an entire room that consisted of at least 10 shower heads. It was insinuated that it was ours for thirty minutes or so. We were still seen as a couple after all. And though I was dirty, it didn’t stop Sam from receiving head from me for the last time. As he later called my Uber, I knew it would be the last time I would see him so I tried to hustle him out of two $500 pit tickets for a show at the Barclays for my trouble. He didn’t oblige. Oh well, at least I tried.

I was crushed about the break up and bawled to my friend on the phone. For weeks I missed him. Now, more than a year later, I hope his tax evasion catches up with him. Going into this tax season, I am paying someone else to do my taxes. Avoiding the “pool” is no longer something I am comfortable doing. Recently, I went to a tax seminar for swers which was run by an escort who had a CPA license. She echoed what my friend in TN said about the IRS just wanting our tax money. Plus, she taught us about how we could legally deduct lingerie, travel, phone bills, sex toys and condoms on TurboTax. I was sold. But I still had an overwhelming amount of W-2s and I99’s from another job that I work on the books. So she recommended me to a place in Texas who was sex worker friendly- for a high price. Whatever. I paid it. I am no longer willing to put up with the paranoia that I will be forced to pay tons of back taxes in the future. 

Tax evasion? Never. Underreporting? Maybe. 

I am struggling. I’m struggling with this profession, living on my own, and in all honesty, just struggling to become. I’m not sure what I am here for. I know I came to live in NYC on a whim after living my entire life in the south. While that was the best decision I have ever made, I find myself in a peculiar position where my labor is not demanded from morning to late afternoon five days a week like most people. I can make rent within one week when I get the work. What person can say that for themselves? I am extremely privileged, and while the work takes a toll on my life that most people are not willing to sit with-I have time. And Time is one of the most limited resources we have in late stage capitalism. Our world demands to know how we spend our waking hours. Even the hours when we are sleeping. In what ways are you producing? Is it efficient enough? And if we are not producing, we are told that we are wasting our time here on Earth. 

Millions of people world-wide were forced to reimagine work and school environments during the pandemic. We saw a surge of people get laid off and struggle with what to do with their free time. Some could afford this break from work, others could not. Some benefitted from the stimulus checks and some did not. It should be noted that a lot of people did not stop working and only continued to work harder. This group often included those providing essential services and/or products for the sick and those who could afford to have goods and services brought to them. But even so, perhaps there was a cultural shift in the way we thought about our lives. If life can be brought to a premature end, what do we do with the time we have remaining? 

So this is my journey with time. This is my individual curiosity about what life consists of outside of work. I acknowledge that having free time goes against American ideals around work ethic. We’re not supposed to have much free time because it would potentially allow us to question the validity of arbitrary social rules and conventions which often creates hostility we have toward one another. Too much free time and perhaps we will see more revolts just like we did during the George Floyd protests. It was not a coincidence that the George Floyd protests and a large demographic of Americans experiencing newfound free time happened at the same time. Free time also gives us a chance to connect to our communities and realize how oppressive systems create inequality between ourselves and the individuals we know and love. For example, we saw a burst of mutual aid orgs during the pandemic. People in the same community met for the first time even. For instance, a friend of mine started the community refrigerator trend in NYC and it’s still a critical service for many people. For me, the pandemic totally changed the trajectory of my life because I was set to move to Chicago that summer and start a promising career path with a nationwide non-profit. Instead, we were all forced to stay home so I did not go to Chicago. I remained in my hometown and even fell in love with someone who would later bring me here to NYC. 

Just like most people, my time was scheduled out from morning to night at least five days a week for twelve years. Then for four more years. Though I will say college let me create a schedule that benefitted me in the way that chunks of time could be spent by my own volition. But now out of college and not in the regular workforce, I find myself wallowing in thoughts of what I am doing and what I am not doing. How I am being productive and how I am not. How I am worth something to society and how I am not.

So I guess all this is to say, I want to find other people who struggle with time too. Where are my gig economy people? Artists? Writers? Freelancers? Dealers? Even those who just struggle navigating what to do with their time outside their job. I know I am not alone. How do I compensate for not having a 9-5? How do I justify not clinging to a rung on the ladder of a company or an organization? Do I even qualify as an adult or am I just a spoiled child in an adult’s body that refuses to do real work? Do I still deserve time away from “work”? Do I even call it that? I could go on with this line of questioning until I reach a self-induced spiral but would that be an efficient use of my time? 

I hate my client and I can’t exactly tell you why. He’s the only client that both gives me gifts and tips me each session. He’s not ugly, just a middle aged man who I happen to despise. After our first session together, I was not particularly thrilled. But that experience regularly comes with the territory. He did not do anything in particular to make me feel this way, it was just not an enjoyable experience as I found him a bit creepy. And yes, sometimes I get joy out of sessions. Actually, I prefer sessions to be enjoyable if it’s for the right reasons. I think it’s misconstrued that all swers dislike clients and the sex they have with them, but I would much rather enjoy the company and forget that I’m working at all. I mean that’s the dream right, to feel like you’re not even working. If you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life? That statement that needs a lot of unpacking, but why should swers be excluded from this sentiment? Is it because we seem dirty? And we seem dirty because we fuck for money? 

Anyway, when we met, I was not getting booked as often as I would have liked, so I didn’t immediately block his number when the session ended. He asked to see me again a few days later and I did not have the capacity to conceal my disgust so I passed, and told him I’d see him the following week instead. The next night, I had no plans but to watch some cheesy 80’s Japanese action films so when I got hit up for work, it was a no-brainer. Upon screening the potential client, something did not quite sit right with me so I told him to meet me in the cross streets as opposed to my actual incall location. Thank God that I listened to my gut because I was right. This was no new client, this was the same man I had seen earlier in the week. His dumb face appeared as his car window rolled down. I flipped. I have a temper and usually I keep that at bay but I was so triggered upon seeing his face. Though I have had 90% good, non-coercive experiences in this industry, there is still the other 10% that hangs in the back of my head when I see clients.

My anger bubbled up through my chest and exploded through my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?!” I screamed. I went to walk away but he screamed my (work) name and told me to get in his car. This only made me more vile and as an innocent party of bar-hoppers passed me, they got caught in the crossfires. I screamed at him again and told him I was not getting in his fucking car. He waved a black and white striped gift bag out the window, “I’m sorry I just wanted to see you. Let me explain”. My blood was boiling, standing in the cold on a Lower Manhattan sidewalk during fucking Santa Con- arguably the worst time of the year. I wanted to run but the inner hustler tugged at me. I was curious as to whether I could still get my hourly which I fully deserved at this point. You can judge me for this part- I do. I got in the car. However, I got in with the condition that the car was to be turned off and my leg could hang out of the door, shoe to cement, blocking the car’s ability to lock or drive off.

I got in the car and he started his long winded apologies. As I furiously bit my lip, he suggested that I open the the gift bag. It is a full-sized Gucci Bloom perfume in its beautiful pastel pink bottle. It’s my favorite scent and I had only been able to afford the mini-roller up until then. My defenses cooled slightly. I told him it’s one of my favorites.

I don’t want to recount the grimace-inducing details of his apology and how he feels so immoral and twisted for paying for sex. He said it goes against his spiritual principles and family morals. He said that he hates to see young women doing this ungodly occupation and wants to help me get out of it. The he told me a story of how he used to see a Polish girl and he ended up funding her to escape the horrendous trade. Blah, blah, fucking savior bullshit. I tell him he has no idea the gravity of what he has done tricking me because someone had previously taken advantage of me and this reminded me of that. Tears welled up in his stupid eyes. I told him I should report him to the blacklists and never see him again. But the hustler in me… I told him to give me my hourly and I will think about seeing him again. I took my gift bag, wad of cash, and beelined toward the train station amid bright red Santa hats and drunken Manhattanites I was floored. I should’ve blocked him. But there was a lingering voice of a former swer mentor who taught me some ends and outs of hustling. The voice of my former mentor advised me to milk the situation for all I could. This same mentor told me that the real test of a “good” sex worker was the amount of money one can procure from a john without ever touching him. I considered this on the train ride home. I had finally done it- I had taken money from him without even having to touch his shoulder. But at what cost?

Weeks went by and I carried this sentiment with me. I finally made the decision to get a few more bucks out of him. I agreed to meet him for a nice lunch during a weekday, hear his wretched apologies again and take the hundred dollar bills with me when he footed the bill. I won’t lie, a great sense of accomplishment swept over me when he handed me the envelope and I got to walk away coldly.

I started seeing him for sessions in the following weeks. I did felt guilty for taking advantage of him even though he put me in a shitty situation. Upon every session, he started presenting me with various Kate Spade jewelry. It was not my thing, but in a messed up way it was validating to receive gifts on top of my hourly. It is rare that a client gifts me something- even tips. Which I know other girls got all the time and this made me jealous. I wanted to know that I was as good as them.

Amid the validation, my deep resentment lingered toward him. Silently, I tried to ignore the resentment but, following unusually bad depressive episode, I was forced to see the connection between my misery and our scheduled sessions. One day, I saw my chance to run. After our session on day, he asked my birthday. At first, I started to tell him my actual one but what kind of hustler would I be if I said it was seven months away. So I tell him it’s in two weeks. “I will tell him it’s my birthday, I will agree to have a nice lunch with him to celebrate, collect his birthday gifts, and make it clear I will not be sleeping with him after lunch. Then I will call it off with him a few days later, telling him I got a good job in the film industry.” Today I executed the first part of this plan. I faked being a Pisces for a few hours and received a duffle bag of gifts and a wad of cash. 

During our lunch, I tried not to be phased by his shirt that said HERO on it in big bold letters. I tried not to be phased by his description of big donation he likes to make on the mornings of his birthdays or yet another mention of how his parents’ high expectations oppressed him growing up. In the way he talks to me, I can tell he thinks of me dumb, naive, and unaware of how the formidable trials of life can really shape a man. I know his type. He is most likely a dad and married to a woman who also despises him. He probably has teenage kids that see right through him. He sees himself as someone stands atop the rigid mountain exposing himself to arduous weather in order to shield the weak- a sacrifice very few people can really understand. I hate him. I breathe deeply on the subway with a duffle bag in my lap, thanking God that’s over. My gaudy Kate Spade gemstone necklace peeking out of my winter coat. 

I probably seem spoiled to you. And you may be right but the reality is that my soul was absolutely drained by this man’s presence and I had enough. I gave him more time than he deserved. That’s what I tell myself anyway. He is a shining reminder of how money is not everything. Though it is to a certain extent, but once the bare minimums are taken care of, money stops having so much value in the face of constant feelings of disgust and resentment. 

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1. We ALL sell our bodies in varying degrees when we work

2. Sex work is NOT ONLY work but ALSO goes beyond work

3. Sex work evolves constantly and looks like so many things

4. What you will read will be limited to MY experiences working in the industry

5. Sex work is ancient yet so disruptive to our current economy and political realties

6. For a “progressive” country, the US has little conversation or meaningful representation of sex work and the diverse array of people’s experiences

7. always wipe front to back

I am inviting you into this space because I have no answers for anything. And if you feel the same way, I find it is so hot that so many of us are confused. One of the reasons I am jumping in on this Substack trend is due to the frustrating lack of media representation of swers (sex workers). And I should clarify- I am a cis white female who was born in the United States, so parts of my identity are systemically overrepresented. However, I theorize that this generation has a unique relationship with sex work as opposed to other generations. This is all the more reason that sex worker representation needs to increase in proportion to its growth! For instance, we saw an explosion in the creator platform OnlyFans. Currently, OnlyFans has over 2 million content creators and is worth around 3 billion USD. That’s not to say that all creators are producing sexy content! And it is not to say OF is the ideal ethical platform for ppl in sex industry! It’s also not to say that harmful legislation did not affect this trend. It’s just something to chew on. What the pandemic did for lots of people is re-imagine how we spend our time and what we want work environments to look like. What work environments do we want to create for ourselves? (but honestly, how long are we going to be in denial about what we actually want, which is to not work at all!)

So I hope that by sharing my experiences, sex work could be destigmatized  to some degree and that more people in the industry will share their experience as well if they feel it’s beneficial for themselves. And let’s create community. I worked in isolation for awhile out of safety but also because I didn’t know anyone else doing what I was doing. Sex work can be a lonely lifestyle sometimes, and sharing my experience makes me feel to more connected.