names and other identifying details have been changed.
Of everything I've considered saying about my former on-and-off employment as a sex worker in New York City for around five years in my twenties, the fact I find most difficult to articulate and remain conflicted to admit is that it did, inexorably, change how I felt about men.
It's the politically incorrect gulf in my coming out story I inelegantly sidestep: I identified as a heterosexually-inclined bisexual when I started giving hand jobs for money, and I left more or less a lesbian. It wasn't the only factor in that transformation, but boy was it a major one.
Things I feel better about saying: I often hated it, sometimes loved it, and always liked it better than working at The Olive Garden. I'll tell you that I loved the money-to-hours ratio and the hustle and how I'd never endured a sexual-harassment-free workplace in my life and at least in this job, I was getting paid to entertain exactly that. I loved the girls...
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