Selling my Soul to the Devil (or maybe I don’t have a soul)

Most people believe sex work is immoral but especially religious people. Only recently has sex work become sort of normalized, but still not really. 

Anyway, it’s probably no surprise that growing up, I was taught that sex workers were basically soulless meat husks. And yet, I was intrigued by the idea of being a stripper, or a prostitute, or a porn star. I would see shows on TV with sex workers and think, why aren’t they having fun? I would have fun. But, of course, I would never because that was evil. Good thing I had the church keeping me on the straight and narrow, otherwise I would have sold my soul to the devil years ago. It just looks like such a good time.


Well, now I’m not Mormon anymore. 


Nowadays there are so many ways to work independently as a writer, or a moviemaker, or a porn star. Now I’m older, less fit, less attractive in lots of ways, but the desire to be a sex worker hasn’t left.


And here I am, on the verge of separating from my husband, I need to find my own financial stability, and the prospect of working another job that tells me when and where and who to be as they pay me unliveable wages, is soul crushing, especially knowing I will come home to take care of my children at the end of the day. 


Oh money and work, how you torture me. Decent wages and a sustainable life can’t abide the same space. When a job suffocates I have to run or die and they always suffocate, sooner or later. 


So what is a girl to do? Dance. Dance naked. Because dancing naked is joyful. Dancing naked will give me freedom and money. Dancing naked will bring me life. Like Frankenstein?


But all that social and religious programming about the evils of sex work are not that simple to overcome. 


Since leaving Mormonism I’ve toyed with the idea of sex work. I got onto FetLife to show off my spatula bruised ass after a spanking. I posted another picture of my boobs hanging out of my shirt. I read articles written by other sex workers (the ones who enjoy it) to see how they do it. I recorded myself stripping and masturbating and then I freaked out, deleted everything and never returned. 


But the idea keeps hanging on. I read about sex parties (or swingers parties) which are very sex positive orgies. Maybe I just needed to go to a sex party, every weekend. Some people golf, I dress up and fuck strangers. It’s fun. I registered for a Temple Scarlet retreat which is a naked camping trip with sex workshops. I freaked out at the last minute and cancelled the retreat. And I still have never attended a sex party. 


Something internal is stopping me from engaging in sex work, it is also stopping me from engaging in life. Now financial needs are pressuring me. Partnering with Charles opened me up a crack, but how do I open it more before it closes again?


I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know……..

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

This Guy at Work

  He was big but not fat, just overwhelming. Tall and solid looking, he kind of leaned over me when he talked and when he spoke it was more like shouting despite being less than twelve inches away. His name was Brock.  My first impression when he started shouting in my direction was that he wasn't very bright. His voice was like a caricature of a stupid person, and his West Virginian accent didn't help matters. But when I really listened, he never said anything dumb. In fact, he was quite articulate, which made his story all the more disturbing. The other day when the machines were down we started talking, which is more like him monologuing than a real conversation, but he was interesting so I always listened. "I played football in high school," he told me as we leaned against the unmoving conveyor belt. "The coach kept telling me I should be quarterback instead of front linemen. I said no, but he said, 'I really want you to be QB you've got one hell
Read more

A Triangle of Tears

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. “I didn’t think grown adults celebrated Valentine’s Day,” I said to Steve. He said he still wanted to do something Valentine’sy. Okay, that’s kind of sweet.   I am working as a server in a restaurant. I miss my kids. I miss my kids. I miss my kids. I’m not used to working all day on my feet but if I am going to do anything, being a server is pretty close to being a mom, but my kids aren’t there. I just hope I can make enough money to survive and hopefully thrive.  I could talk about socioeconomic issues. I could talk about what it is to be human. I could talk about the Chiefs winning the super bowl. But instead I will talk about the strange surrealism it is to be me right now.  Tyler surprised me on Friday by showing up at my work with the kids. They kissed me and said hello then goodbye, then I cried for the next twenty minutes while serving tables. When I got home that night, the kids were asleep on an air mattress on my bedroom floor. Tyler left and
Read more

Look at Me! Look at Me!

I am blogging (in case you haven't noticed) and I have lots of mixed feelings about this. Feeling number one is the topic of the day. Posting a blog on the internet...public...World Wide Web...with global accessibility. Why would someone do that? To be read. Because you have something to say. Attention for your ideas or yourself but attention is the ultimate and only reason.  I feel shame around any attention seeking no matter how subtle, this shame applies to myself and others. Whenever I watch YouTube and vloggers start clamoring for attention, I feel revulsion at the hunger of it.  I could just let people do their own thing, to each his own, que sera sera and all that. Just because they have different needs than mine doesn't make them bad or wrong; logically I know this, but logic isn't part of this equation. I feel disgusted and I feel cruel for my disgust. My abject distain for attention seekers is probably a dysfunction on my part. I assume it is normal and human to w
Read more