‘Enough, now, enough.’

I remember the moment I couldn’t go on… Dissociation wasn’t protecting me any longer.

Yet another male (punter) had talked about his wife. How he would fantasise about our sex when he could get to fuck her.

As time went on, I began to feel more and more nauseated, cheap, dirty and worn out. The money wasn’t cutting it anymore.

I felt trapped.

The fantasies that men played out wasn’t anything new. I’d “served” many men sex on a plate, at a price. Many of them had an insatiable hunger for younger women, and aggressive sex. Many of them lying and deceiving their partners wives or girlfriends as they either, fucked, acted out, raped or groped my body. Many talked about their use of pornography and buying sex.

I became desensitised for a while. No harm, Eh! I was a feminist in control. Or so I thought, and the world had me convinced.

My tipping point, and turning point, to exit selling sex was meeting a married lawyer. He had children. He requested that I collected sperm from each condom I’d used during the day from other punters – or clients, if I were to sugar coat the story.

He wanted to drink the sperm at the end of the day.

This was the beginning of the end for me.

Easy, some may say. No sex with him, no touching him, he wouldn’t touch me, and I could name my price… I could have charged £1,000 or more for this request.

But I didn’t. I declined.

In a moment of clarity. This man’s family was all I could think about. After that I could only think about all the women I had let down, all of the mothers, all of the wives.

All of society’s girls and women.

All of those sexualised conditions that I had colluded with for so many years.

Selling sex wasn’t empowering. It was the most disempowering experience for myself, for all woman or girls.

Enough, now, enough.

This page was published on 14 September 2024.

Emma