Cate is something of a renaissance sex worker; she’s currently employed as a pro-domme at a fetish house but has held numerous interesting jobs in the adult industry. Each week, she shares her stories in Harlotry. This is the story of her recent arrest. Part I (the story of the police raid on her fetish house) is here and part II is here.
I hadn’t waited very long before the older policewoman–the one who’d said I was pretty and complimented my dress–came and stood in the doorway of my cell. I was worried she’d come to deliver a speech about respecting myself and my body; I was prepared to get up on my soap box, but it turned out she wasn’t there for a discussion about sex worker rights or whether or not I was guilty. She’d come to unburden her heart.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty two,” I replied, “Twenty three in a month.”
“You’re just a kid!” she exclaimed, “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Oh,” I said, “I know. No-one should ever be arrested for doing what I do.”
This didn’t seem to faze her, either she wasn’t listening, or she agreed, I wasn’t sure.
“You know, I see a lot of girls come in here,” she began, “Some of them are younger than you are. They come in with track marks, all fucked up. Some of them are pregnant. You’re such a bright girl, you don’t need to be like them.”
I started to protest that I wasn’t like them, I was nothing like them, but she wasn’t really interested.
“I’ve been a cop for almost twenty years,” she said, “I see really terrible things every day. I don’t want you to end up on the street. You have to take care of yourself. Take care of yourself before you do anything else. You know, I didn’t get married until I was forty and it was the best decision I ever made. Live your life, learn about yourself before you get married and have kids.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I replied.