Being both a writer and a sex worker is hard.
It’s not a question of time, nor is it a question of money; it’s really a question of discretion. My work requires so much secrecy. I keep secrets for my safety, for my co-workers’ safety, and for the protection of the men who pay us. I don’t write under my real name because I don’t want to incur the wrath of the law. I can never be entirely truthful because so much of what I do is at least legally dubious, if not downright illegal. Saying too much could absolutely ruin my co-workers, my clients, and even myself.
I wish this wasn’t true. Telling true stories of the ho life to a wide audience and showing that sex workers are not the flamingos stock photos portray us as, but are actually real people who stand on two legs and have normal lives is one of the things that will gradually bring us greater acceptance. Being unable to speak openly and freely does no favors for us.