Cate is something of a renaissance sex worker and has held numerous interesting jobs in the adult industry. Each week, she shares her stories in Harlotry.
I’ve written at length about how much I love my work. And for the most part I do, but it hasn’t been entirely without physical consequences. I don’t mean that my work has injured me–although two years of stripping didn’t exactly do good things for the already not-great state of my knees and back. What I mean by “consequences” is that I now respond differently, even rather negatively, to certain physical stimuli.
Since people seem to assume the worst when it comes to ladies of my profession, I should probably preface all of this by saying that while I have been raped, it was long after I became a sex worker and I was not raped by a client. While not mutually enjoyable, my overall sexual experiences with clients have certainly not violated the trust set in place, nor would qualify as anything I would consider assault. In my experience and the experiences of my friends, this is pretty normal. Clients seem to be, if anything, less likely to be dangerous than other, non-paying men. However, despite my overwhelmingly positive experiences with clients, I’ve recently noticed that my responses to certain sexual activities–both in and out of work–have changed. And sadly, they have changed for the worse.
The first thing I noticed was my response to oral sex. Now, I’ve honestly never been a huge fan of being gone down on in general. I’m very particular about exactly how I like to be touched, and most people, women or men, just don’t really manage to achieve that, no matter how explicit my directions are. Extremely well-performed oral can make me speak in tongues and call upon the names of forgotten gods, but in the long list of people I’ve slept with for either business or pleasure, there have been exactly three who managed to achieve that, two of whom were women. Usually I’m just lying there bored and wondering if I need to fake it or if I should just try to steer the activities in another direction. These days, though, my response is more likely to be actual revulsion than simple boredom.
There are certain techniques now that can and do almost make me wretch. I’m frequently in the awkward position of trying to suppress nausea while a client tries to be a good guy and get me off. It’s not necessarily a lack of skill–many of the clients that I find so off-putting are at least passably decent at going down on a lady, as a matter of fact. It’s certainly not revulsion at their physicality, either. The looks (or lack thereof) of a client don’t really have anything to do with how much or how little revulsion I feel at their ministrations. I’m never sure what to do in these situations, obviously it’s bad form to let my disgust be known, but at the same time, I wonder how much damage I’m doing to myself by letting things continue and ignoring the visceral physical response I feel.
The only thing that may gross me out more than certain oral techniques is having my nipples played with, or worse, sucked. I’ve nearly thrown up on clients’ heads when they decide to go for my nipples, and usually manage to choke out a squirm and giggle so I can simply pretend my nipples are ticklish and make them stop. This is probably the thing I find most distressing, primarily because of how it used to make me feel.