Saturday, 17 March 2012

Breaking the Mould

Stereotypes are interesting things. On one hand they can be a way to define certain groups and types of people, but on the other hand (and most commonly), when you delve deeper into it, they are usually completely wrong and are often quite damaging to the person being defined.

Like for example, all Asians excel at the violin or all blondes are stupid or, one of my favourites, all hookers are skanky, heroin addicts who hate the world, hate men and, most of all, hate themselves.

It just isn’t true. I mean, yeah, in every situation you’re going to get some people that match the stereotype (that's how stereotypes are formed), but you’ll also find a lot of people who couldn’t fit into the mould you set, no matter how hard you try to squeeze them in.

We are all guilty of doing it. Assuming things because of what someone looks like or where they come from, and one thing this job has taught me (apart from really useful things like how to use a strap-on and which angles and lights I look hottest in) is to never do that, no matter how obvious it may seem.

The first thing I needed to learn was to not judge clients as a whole. Before I started working in the sex industry I pretty much assumed that most guys who called for the service of an escort were desperate, unattractive, pervy old men. You know the ones, they ogle you at the bus stop and make lewd comments when you walk past them but I have to say, to date, I haven’t come across many guys like that at all.

Yeah, okay, so I’ve seen old guys, desperate guys, sleazy guys and unattractive guys, but all that unsexy goodness rolled into one? Not that many at all.

After switching my thinking about the people who use the services of sex workers, came the learning curve of not judging individual clients by what they looked like or where they were from. It didn't take long at all, but there were some interesting experiences along the way that instantly taught me to never judge a book by its cover.

The first of these experiences was with Karl.

Karl was a bald headed but bushranger bearded, super-scary looking bikie. He had tattoos of skulls and guns all over his arms and back and a well-known biker’s club patch on the back of his jacket. His voice was raw and husky from too many cigarettes, his body gnarled and covered in scars from things like knife attacks and fist fights and he even had a shotgun hanging up in the wall of his bedroom. I’ve gotta tell you, I was a little freaked out. In fact, if I didn't already have all his credit card details and my awesome burly driver waiting outside in the car I may well have made some excuse and left.

I was really glad I didn't. Not only was he was polite, gentle and funny. He was so much fun! He kicked my arse in strip scrabble and played me some beautiful music on his guitar. That first night I spent about three hours with him, laughing and mucking about and fucking and generally having a really good time. He became a regular client and a friend too. In fact the only reason I stopped seeing him was because he moved interstate.

Then there was Billy. A middle-aged, bespectacled accountant who was wearing (no shit) a brown suit with too-short legs and white tennis shoes when I met him. I expected missionary sex and to be shown his stamp collection. I was completely wrong.

After a few hours of wild sex, in which we enjoyed many different positions and toys and which had me shaking and panting all over from multiple orgasms, we sat on the couch and went through pictures of his last mountaineering expedition in the Himalayas . He went every couple of years and was even hoping to one day conquer Everest. He showed me a video of his first solo sky dive and told me all about the base-jumping holiday he was going be taking in Canada the following month.

Not all black guys have humongous cocks, not all Asians have little ones, Indian men don’t always smell like curry and I have yet to come across an Englishman who never showers. And, one of the most important and totally surprising things I learnt in my first few months of working was, not every booking involves sex. There's dinner and events and cuddles and conversation. Sometimes I don't even take my shoes off let alone my clothes. There is such an amazing array of people and situations I have found in my working life that sometimes the anticipation of a new client and an unknown hour or so is even more exciting than the jobs where I know I'm going to have fabulous sex.

In fact, just about the only thing I can guarantee on a job is, if you do end up booking me we are going to have a bloody great time and if you do use some of that time to fuck me, you’re gonna have the ride of your life.

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