No Little Girl and Other Lies

No Little Girl and other lies.

Not so long ago I wrote an article for the Eros Journal about the # PornHarmKids campaign that was centred around the idea that porn is dangerous for children and therefore should be banned. (You can find a copy of the magazine here: http://eros.org.au/NEJ/issue5/mobile/index.html

Look for issue no. 5 and flick to page 16)

On the surface this movement seemed fairly logical (of course no-one wants their kids accidentally stumbling across, or even deliberately seeking out, hardcore pornography) but when looked at a little deeper it was evident that it had far less to do with protecting children, and far more to do with sexual negativity, stopping conversations and sex education, as well as silencing performers and producers and those invested in the adult industry. To the sex-negative radical feminists that lead these movements anyone involved in the sex industry is either a rapist or a victim and anyone who deems to speak out positively about it is a brainwashed idiot who doesn’t care about women or children.

It’s definitely a clever tactic. I mean, there are few things that tug the heart-strings and create emotive responses more than the idea of children being hurt. In the plight to stop world hunger or extreme poverty the images we see on our TVs are of starved, dying children. When we talk car safety, germ cleaning, internet danger, food health, anything really we know that using children, or the phrase “As a mother...” is a clear and effective way to get people thinking with their emotions and are therefore far easier to sway to their way of thinking.

What’s wrong with that? I hear you ask… Of COURSE we don’t want children dying or hurt or damaged. Why is it so bad to protect the most vulnerable among us? We’re adults, that’s our job!

Well yes, of course, you’re right in many ways… But unfortunately for every good thing that comes from the idea of “protecting children” come those who would use our emotions against us, to spread misinformation and downright lies, all in the name of “Saving The Children”.

This is evident when it comes to groups like anti-vaxxers or pro-lifers. They also use photographs of distressed children to get their messages across. They use highly emotive language as well as clever tricks with language to “prove” their sides and dismiss anything spoken against it as conspiracy or “paid shills”, and are quick to delete, block or, in some extreme cases, antagonise and rally against people in the most horrid of ways (look at the anti Light for Riley people or Sandyhook “truthers” if you need evidence of this).

So yes. It’s clever. Really clever. We, as society as a whole, protect our young. We don’t want to see them hurt or upset, and so using them to highlight an issue or danger gives us that instinctual protector vibe and we feel obligated to help.

Probably one of the most distressing things we can think of when it comes to bad things that can happen to our kids is sexual abuse. The idea of their innocence being ripped away, their futures shattered. It’s horrible to think about and even more horrible to know it actually happens. A lot. To children all over the world from the richest suburbs to the most poverty stricken slums. No-one wants to think that this sort of thing might happen to their kids and so campaigns like #PornHarmsKids effectively draws on that as well as the age-old idea that sex itself - not rape or molestation, just sex- is bad and wrong and dirty for women to do unless, of course, they are married, and therefore any woman involved in anything to do with the sex industry must have been forced and is in need of rescue.

It is with these dirty tactics and sex-negative attitudes that the latest hashtag has spawned: #NoLittleGirl.

In the wake of the FOSTA/SESTA debacle (An American bill that claims to fight sex trafficking but that actually just puts sex workers in a lot of danger. For more info, and I absolutely encourage everyone to look into this and why it’s so dangerous, please read here: https://www.vox.com/culture/2018/4/13/17172762/fosta-sesta-backpage-230-internet-freedom ) radical feminists are using the sudden focus on sex trafficking versus sex work (newsflash, there is NO connection between the two) to once again demonise sex work and sex workers by stating that because no little girl would ever possibly dream of growing up to be a sex worker it is somehow proof that the sex industry is gross and dangerous and should be shut down.

Now, by using this logic can we also assume no little girl ever dreamed of cleaning up vomit and shit so therefore we should ban nursing or cleaning? Also I don’t know how many little girls grew up dreaming of working 40 hours a week behind a checkout, so sorry retail industry, you’ve got to go. In fact I could name a hundred jobs that no-one, girl or boy, would ever dream of doing when they grow up because they’re either gross or hard or boring or just terrible. I mean, when you think about it, that’s practically every job! The only difference being that sex work contains sex and sex is icky and bad.

But, regardless of that, the claim that No Little Girl ever dreams of growing up to be a sex worker is in itself false.

How do I know this? Because I was one of them. From the earliest age I can remember, before I knew what sex was, what orgasms were, what lust or love or desire was… Before any of that I knew I liked it. I knew about the sensations and the way it made me feel. I knew I wanted to explore it. As I grew up and learnt words to put to those feelings I got even more curious, and at whatever age it was that I finally found out some people have sex as a job it was something I wanted to do. I have since met hundreds of women who have said the same, and even more who have said they were fascinated by sex and sexual feelings as a kid even if they didn’t necessarily want to do it for work, hell even Dolly Parton claims she looks the way she looks because she modelled herself on the town hooker she once spotted as a child and was fascinated by.

It’s also important to note, because you will NEVER see anti sex work protestors speak of it as it ruins their narrative, that not all sex workers are women, and not all sex work clients are men. This is actually one of the most important omissions in their arguments because it shows the truth. That women using sex as work makes them uncomfortable because sex itself makes them uncomfortable. It’s got NOTHING to do with “protecting’ women and everything to do with “controlling” women’s sexuality and sexual independence, ironically just like what they say they are trying to fight. It’s a bizarre and twisted point of view that has stemmed from the backwards and dangerous way we speak and learn and teach about sex.

We drill sex negativity into children in so many ways, whether it’s referring to certain parts of their body as “rude” or punishing them for exploring themselves “Don’t touch there it’s dirty!” or expecting girls to be “pure” and policing the length of their skirts or bare shoulders. It’s not only ridiculous (there is nothing wrong with bodies) it’s also incredibly dangerous to their growth and development into a healthy adult. The thing is children DO think about sex or the good-feeling sensations they get in their tummies and, while sex itself is certainly not an act for children, the education around it must be positive and void of shame so that they can feel free and safe to explore and learn and have a solid base of facts and family and love to fall back on when things get tricky or confusing. And you know what? If any of those children do decide when they’re older that they want to work in the sex industry, it is up to us as the generation before to provide safe and healthy environments for them to do so. Pushing for a ban on the industry in the name of stopping trafficking is as useless as shutting down the local pharmacy because someone has a meth lab on the street. 

Sex work IS work. It is a valid and necessary job that provides comfort and intimacy and fun as well as financial security and independence for the people who do it. Regardless of if the provider is working from the penthouse suite of a fancy hotel or on the street, each of them, and every level in between, deserves respect and security and protection and the only way that this can be done is with decriminalisation. It doesn’t actually matter if YOU personally would never do that job or find it distasteful, it’s not about you. It’s about the fact that sex work is not ever going to go away and it shouldn’t have to. That sex trafficking is NOT the same and there are already laws and legislations in place for combatting it. And that as humans living on the same planet we have an obligation to make sure everyone doing a job is kept safe and has the same rights and protections as anyone else doing a job.

If you need any more proof that I am not alone and that sex workers and women around the world actually DID think about sex and pleasure when they were kids, go and search out the hashtag. In true internet activist style it has been taken over by sex positivity and stories from all over the world and all over the gender spectrum showing how false this claim really is and what a ridiculous logic leap they’ve taken.

In my activism and my feminism I truly believe that the only thing little girls should ever grow up not wanting to do is silence other women and stifle their choices (some of whom are the most vulnerable and marginalised in the world) and put them in unsafe and dangerous positions just because what they’ve chosen to do makes her feel icky. Listen to sex workers, provide them with rights not rescue, and join the fight for decriminalisation… And please, stop using children to clutch at your pearls. Their hands are only small and they’d rather be playing with Lego.

The Problem With ProLube... Or, Do You Even Vagina, Bro?

Okay, folks... Strap yourself in cos we're going on a helluva ride!

This one is a doozy! It's got everything you could hope for in an adventure ride. It's got twists and turns, false claims and weird science. It's got insults and lies and, best of all, MAGIC!!!
(It also has a shit load of links and screenshots so bear with me),

I'm also not the first person to blog about this.

There have been quite a few others as concerned as I am including @EmmelinePeaches and her great blog, @DangerousLilly in her Tumblr, and @cbpolis who uses her blog on this topic to show how and where you can complain.

But now... Let the ride begin!!

By now, if you're a follower of mine on Twitter, you're probably aware of the company "Use to Believe" and their magic wonder lubricant, ProLube. I was alerted to it by a good friend and gorgeous sex worker @NtyNikki and, after having a look at the website and reading it all for myself, I decided to take to the mean streets of Twitter and use my connections within the sex industry world, the sex blogger world and the science world to question, investigate and highlight the very big concerns I have about this product.

But first, if you're not aware... Let me tell you about ProLube...

<insert sarcasm font and put on your tin foil hats>

ProLube is so amazing that you won't even be able to believe how amazing it is unless you use it. It will totally science the hell out of your vag. So much so that one application will have you lubricated all day and, just a mere ten hours after that you'll be way horny and aroused as fuck because our magic lube is also a magic-lady-hornifier. Ooh and it will totally clear up your pimples and that nasty vagina-smelling vagina smell girls have. It will make all your period cramps totally gone - except for the fact that you shouldn't use it during your period - and, most super awesomely and magically of all, it will protect against STIs including HIV (but only if you use a condom.... and, like, if you do get HIV or something while using it then it's totally the condoms fault and you should sue the condom company). And it absolutely, totally, 100% works. Honest! I mean sure, there are no clinical trials or evidence or independent testing or scientific backings or any of that pesky “proof” people like to go on about because that's unnecessary and anyway, for safety reasons we decided not to do any tests. You just have to use it to believe it. But no, I'm not going to tell you what's in it. You're far too dumb to understand how the ingredients will work anyway, and, like, you totally wouldn't believe it anyway. It's like magic.

Seriously. You cannot make this shit up.

Out of all the strange claims and bizarre logic and weird science, one thing this dude has correctly surmised is that I am not a scientist. He's right. I'm not. I have a pretty crap brain for it actually... So, when he finally (after days of being asked by many people) posted this link to the "Science" and told us that it was “too advance” I agreed.

Although, as you can see, he underestimated the folks of Twitter... And also my gorgeous friend who shall henceforth be referred to as Bec the Sweary Science Bitch - @bklistingblog - (seriously, she's awesome. Think SciBabe with a Mauritian tilt and an obsession with Star Trek). Bec is not a nuff brain like me. She is a certified, legit, all powerful sciencer with bachelor degrees in Science, Biomedical Science and Health Science. She is a clinical innovation specialist with a focus on global health and microbiology and is an all round smart cookie who knows her shit when it comes to the science of germs and diseases and how all that shit works.

So I sent it to her.

After she finished laughing and asking me “what the fucking fuck, is this dude actually serious, holy fuck what?” She sent me a tell-me-like-I'm-five summary.

For the TL;DRs – It's bad science. It makes no sense. It's guesses at best, and lies at worst... Oh, and according to a couple of other sciencer Tweeps who read it too, a lot of it also seems to have been stolen from other writers, cut and edited, and then pasted together with perhaps ProLube itself.

For the rest, here are the screenshots of her awesome sciencey summary and notes to the author of it:

But enough of the science for now. We have already established I am not a scieney scientist, but something I am, and something I am very proud of being, is a sex worker. Yeah, it's been a while since I've done a job, but that doesn't matter. In my head and my heart I will always be a sex worker.

I am also a sexpert. I research, write, talk about and educate on sex, sexuality, sexual practices and sex work and one of the things that has really bugged me about this whole crazy ride through Lube Town is this company's hijacking of the Red Umbrella symbol and the incredibly ignorant and condescending marketing towards sex workers.

For those who are unaware, the red umbrella is an international symbol of sex worker solidarity and respect. It is special. It is important. And it is ours.

What this person (or persons... who knows how many whackjobs are involved in this scheme) fails to understand, and refuses to acknowledge, is that sex workers not only don't need this help, they also do not want it. Outside sources (read: people not associated in any way with sex work) who claim to want to help, protect and save sex workers are uniformly rejected and avoided, and often hated, by sex workers. They have no knowledge of our work, what we do, how we do, or why we do it. They have assumptions and guesses based on propaganda and whorephobia and, 99 times out of 100, they get it all dreadfully wrong.

This was evident when Mr ProLube was asked why he was marketing to sex workers. His reply? Basically, because sex workers have lots of sex with random people, they don't know who, or what infections, said random people might have.

Well duh. That's not fucking rocket science. But, the thing is, we already know this, buddy. We aren't fucking idiots.

The fact of the matter is that sex workers have one of the lowest rates of STIs than ANY OTHER DEMOGRAPHIC.
Do you know why this is?
Because sex workers are very fucking aware of the risk associated with the work they do and take many many precautions against this. Sex workers are masters of condoms and masters of STI spotting. They can tell the difference between a milk spot and a genital wart. Between eczema and herpes. They can tell if that crusty shit on a penis is just that the dude hasn't washed properly, or if he has gonorrhoea. They. Know. Their. Shit. They are regularly tested and regularly updating their knowledge on all thing sexual health. Because of this, sex workers are the first people who will jump up and down with damn good authority and tell you there is no way, without any proof, scientific data, clinical trials and independent testing and reviews, that they will believe your lube can prevent HIV and other STIs, or waste their well-earned money buying it to find out.

And what about sex workers in countries and places where the education on STIs and protection may not be as prevalent as it is in Westernised places like Australia and the UK etc? 

Well they are precisely the people who need to be warned against this stuff. These are women (yes I know not all sex workers are women but this is marketed as a female lubricant) who will listen to this woo-science and believe it. These are women who will stick this lube inside them and believe they are safe from disease. These are the women who will die because of this false advertising and irresponsible bullshit.

Something sex workers will also tell you, and everyone else they can get within earshot, is that despite your insistence that it's true, and despite your pretty little web page telling us so, there is absolutely NO CURE FOR HERPES!

Yes, you heard me right, folks. Mr ProLube also has a product that he claims (again without any proof or science backing or trials) will cure herpes.

He says someone he knows used it once and their herpes magically disappeared and they were cured (but for best practices you should apply thrice).

This is impossible. There is no cure for herpes. There just isn't. There are creams and pills and stuff that can help lessen your outbreaks and maybe even prevent you from getting an outbreak at all... But there IS NO CURE. The herpes virus is with you for life. It is highly contagious and completely incurable.

The fact that this company is making these outrageous claims is worse than just irresponsible. It's deadly. I urge every single one of you reading this blog to report them. Not just to Twitter, because although that may disable a platform of theirs it won't actually stop them from selling their nasty magical lie lube, but to the relevant authority in your country. The TGA. The FDA. Even The ACCC or relevant Consumer Affairs board in your country.

Oh, don't you worry, Mr ProLube. That is exactly what I will do. Because this shit is bad. And, quite frankly, I'd like to see it die a horrible death before someone who believes their lies does.

No Blood Please, We're Whorephobic

On the subject of whorephobia and of people refusing to acknowledge, respond or answer to their perpetuation of it (see last blog here), I bring you the Australian Red Cross Blood Donation group.

Blood donation is important. I have had friends who have needed blood donations, family members and acquaintances. According to the Australian Red Cross only one in thirty people donate blood, but one in three people will need blood transfusions in their lifetime.

This is sad. Really sad. Millions of people who need blood are going without because we don't have enough people donating blood.

However, this is not the whole story. It is not the fact that Australians are cruel and lazy and don't give a shit about other people. On the contrary. Almost every single person in my circle of friends (and I have quite a large circle of friends) would donate if they could.

That's the kicker IF they could.

For one reason or another they are unable to. Personally I think a few of these reasons or another are completely shit, discriminatory and outdated. But that's the way it is, and it doesn't look like anything is going to change any time soon.
There are four categories my friends who are unable to donate fall into.

• Living in England between 1980-1996
• Having had a tattoo within six months
• Being a gay man
• Being a sex worker

If you take the “Am I Eligible to Donate” quiz on the Donate Blood website, The Red Cross asks you a bunch of questions about your history in order to determine if you are eligible or not.
Questions include are you pregnant, do you have low iron, your age group etc … And they also ask a question about “Risky Sexual Behaviour”.

I totally get that question. It's super important and valid. STIs in the bloodstream can be fatal, and the last thing you want to do is expose someone to those sorts of diseases and infections... It is absolutely imperative to sexual health and sexual practices to be safe and protect yourself and the people you are having sex with from infection.

You know who knows this better than any group in the world?

Sex Workers.

People who fuck for cash.

Know why? BECAUSE IT'S THEIR FUCKING LIFE AND JOB AND LIVELIHOOD!!

Sorry. I got a bit cross there... But for fuck's sake. This is something that irks me so much it should be shouted from every fricken rooftop of every fricken house.

This is their idea of “Risky Sexual Behaviour”

Now I get that unsafe sex is risky. I get that unsafe sex with multiple partners is risky.

I also get that the stigma against gay men and sex workers being “dirty” is rampant in this whorephobic, homophobic world... BUT... it's old. It's so fucking old and tired it's bullshit and stinks of discrimination. Because according to this you can have as much unsafe sex as you like... Unless the person you've had unsafe sex with has also had unsafe sex with a man who has sex with men.

Sure, if you're the sort of person who goes out every weekend and has unprotected sex with people then I get why you can't donate. That's absolutely risky. But that isn't what they're saying at all.

Nope. It's only if you're gay, or the person you've slept with might be.

In fact, Red Cross, to single out and assume all gay men are like this is what is called “homophobia”. Say it with me, folks, H O M O P H O B I A.

No no, say the Red Cross. We aren't homophobic. Gay men can donate... They... They just can't have sex for a year beforehand.

Um...

What about the men in long term monogamous relationships?

What about the men who have casual sex but use protection every time?

What about the fact that AIDS IS NOT A GAY DISEASE?

Nope. Doesn't matter. Red Cross don't want your tainted homo blood. Eew!

Next we come to the whorephobic discrimination against sex workers. Sex work is lumped in with “Risky Sexual Behaviour”. Yes. Risky. Because, you see, money makes it bad. You can go out and fuck a hundred people in a week... But the minute money exchanges hands, well you're probably diseased and icky. They also like to lump in “drug use” in their whorephobia because hookers probably fuck for drugs and drugs are bad m'kay. Conversely, there is no question in there about getting high as fuck on E with your friends and heading off to a nightclub and fucking a bunch of people in the toilets...

Because that's okay. You weren't, you know, paid for it.

This blatant whorephobia comes regardless of reams and reams of facts and statistics that show and prove that among any demographic Australia Wide, Sex Workers are of the lowest percentage of STI carriers in the country.

Here are just some examples of websites, articles, research papers etc that prove just how wrong the Red Cross are in their discrimination:

http://m.sti.bmj.com/content/81/5/434.full

http://m.theage.com.au/victoria/monthly-sex-worker-tests-are-ridiculous-health-experts-say-20110530-1fctn.html

http://www.health.gov.au/internet/main/publishing.nsf/Content/ohp-bbvs-sti

http://www.acon.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/NSW-Sex-Industry-Report-CSRH-2012.pdf

Several sex worker friends of mine have reached out in recent weeks to ask the Red Cross to please explain this discrimination. On a thread on their Facebook page last week there were a whole bunch of questions being asked.

Why can't I donate if I'm gay?

Why can't I donate if I lived in the UK?

Why are you bowing to Muslim pressure and allowing your biscuits to be Halal?

Why can't I donate if I'm a sex worker.

Interestingly and very tellingly every single comment got a response except the ones asked by sex workers. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.
Don't believe me? Here is the link to that thread:

Red Cross Donation Thread

They used their tired old homophobic excuses re the gay men. They explained about the risk of mad cow disease within people who had lived in the UK during those years. They even responded to every single bigoted comment regarding their biscuits... But the Sex Workers have nothing. Not a single comment, explanation or excuse.

Sex workers have provided links to back up their statements about the lack of STIs among them and their peers. They have asked articulate, intelligent, well argued questions.. But nothing.

“I would donate but now you're Muslim dogs” gets a reply but “Please explain why you won't allow a group of people with proven safe and healthy blood to donate?”.... Crickets....

I too have reached out to them on Facebook and on Twitter to absolutely no avail. They just will not respond. At all. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

This is absolutely unacceptable.

I call on every sex worker in Australia, every sex work ally, every friend or partner or family member of a sex worker to get on board and start asking the questions that demand answers.

Why, when we are statistically proven to be of lower risk than almost any other Australian group of people in any state or territory, are sex workers not allowed to donate much needed blood to save lives?

Why?

I'm not holding my breath for an answer...
(EDIT: How interesting. About twenty minutes AFTER this blog was published the Red Cross decided to reply to ONE of the comments on their Facebook thread. One. They said they had to check because they didn't know the answer... I call BULLSHIT! I call stalling because today their Twitter is blowing up. I say revoke your dumb policy now and stop blowing smoke up our goddamn arses. We usually get paid for that. We ain't letting you get away with it for free)

While we're waiting here's some examples from that thread...

Sorry, dear, you're not qualified!

Okay, so I have kind of misquoted there, but only by a word or two and for those hard-core Monty Python fans out there, I know you’ll know what I mean…

               

A mate of mine called me up not too long ago. He has been a colleague for many years, was even my boss for a few of them and, over the course of our working relationship, we have become friends. He has helped me out of a jam or two before and I him and we have formed a bond.

                But enough about that, this isn’t what this is about, it is about the phone call. He called me up and said, “Hey mate, I need some help. You’re a really good writer and I think you’re pretty funny too ( he went on and on with the compliments, but I don’t wanna bore you), and a friend and I have started up a website all about comedy, specifically Australian comedy, and we would love you to be a part of it. You have the skills as a writer, the contacts in the entertainment world and, well you’re just awesome (no, really, he said this heaps! *disclaimer, he probably didn’t say it as much as I like to remember).”

                Well needless to say I was flattered. Not only do I respect his opinion, I really love comedy. Like really. Some of my earliest memories are of watching old Billy Connelly videos with my dad, and my sisters and I screeching with laughter at the Goodies and Monty Python and all the best comedy from the 70s. When we got a little bit older my sister’s and I would re-enact scenes from the Old D-Generation show. We would quote the lines over and over.

 It wasn’t just comedy though. It was all performing. I loved theatre and musicals and live shows. Those people who know me well know I studied acting and writing for many years while I was a teenager and early adult. I did speech and drama and elocution, I performed improvisation and spoken word in Eisteddfods, I acted in plays (one of which was chosen to play in an international festival when I was only 16), I wrote plays (one of which ended up winning a prize in the Australian National Scriptwriting Competition in the early 90s) I told jokes, I did strange street theatre that nobody understood. It was my life.
                Those people who know me very, very well know why I quit. That’s another story for another time. It was one of the hardest things I have ever walked away from. But I did.

Over the years I put that loss of being on stage away and my passion for performing and entertaining was redirected into my other favourite thing, sex. Not only within the realms of escorting and sex work, where I would be able to don any mask to fit the personality of a client and get to show off my talents and personality and magnificent oral skills (oh as if you weren’t expecting a pun or too along the way), but also into public speaking and presenting too. I partook in panel discussions on writing porn and erotica; I co-hosted radio spots and, with a good friend, presented skill share workshops for women on sex and sexuality. (I am using past tense but all these things are still very much part of the work I do). In short, I was putting myself out there as much as possible but, instead of doing it under the guise of a character, I was doing it all as me.

So, back to the phone call. Of course I said yes. Not only was it awesome and flattering and exciting to be asked, it meant I would get to see some fantastic shows, hone my writing skills even more and build up more of my public profile because, let’s face it, when you’re a freelance writer without an agent, no one else is going to do it for you.

I have quite a few mates who are comedians. Some I know very well and would call them good friends, others more acquaintances who I have a drink with every so often and others are just people I know from around the traps of being a writer, enjoying live shows and/or they are a friend of a friend and I saw them once at a party.

I told a couple of them I had been given this gig and they were all excited for me. As well as eager to plug their next show and promise to buy me lots of beer if I gave them a good write up which I, of course, refused (Hey, you may be able to buy my sex… But my laughter is another matter). I was pumped. I was excited. I was ready to laugh… And then something happened.

I have a few idols. People I look up to and admire for one reason or another. I am very lucky to have met a few of them and even luckier to have met some who have since become friends of mine. One such Idol who I have met, although would not class as a friend, is a pretty famous Aussie comedian. Someone I grew up watching and enjoying. Someone whose lines I spent hours quoting with friends. Someone who had a permanent poster-spot on my bedroom wall. Someone who, when they started following me on Twitter and who I eventually met briefly one day, made me jump up and down in my chair and go “Squeeeeee” for a while. Someone who, with a few casual words thrown in my direction had me questioning everything about myself, my intentions, my skills and my talents.  Someone who almost made me give up.
Yay idol, right.

It all started with a ticket mix up at the Melbourne International Comedy festival. I went to get tickets for a show I was reviewing and the girl at the desk told me she was really sorry, but for some reason they hadn’t sent me an email about another show I’d been hoping to review and I had missed out on the tickets to it because it had already started an hour earlier. She was really apologetic but I understand that shit happens and it wasn’t anyone’s fault really. But the most disappointing aspect of it was it was the show of the above mentioned idol. Someone who I had wanted to see live since forever.

So I sent him a tweet. Basically I said something like “Hey, am reviewing shows for MICF and just found out that, cos of a mix up, I missed out on your show. Bummer!”

His reply was quick, simple and short. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a comedy specialist.”

Well, I’m not. That bit is true, but at first I didn’t think much of it and sent him a reply back saying something along the lines of sex and laughter being intertwined and hey, people are always telling me I’m funny… And not just funny looking…

He came back at me with a quote. A quote from Roosevelt about how critics are scum and whose only purpose is to point out faults and judge while someone else lays their heart and soul on the line. (I’m paraphrasing… Here’s the actual quote http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/7-it-is-not-the-critic-who-counts-not-the-man )And basically went on to tell me that I had no place to be judging others, that I come from a place of no experience and total risk and that, regardless of my years of experience presenting and writing and putting myself out there for everyone to judge and criticise (seriously, until you have come out openly and positively as a sex worker, you have NO idea what being judged by complete strangers is like) I had no place to do what I was doing because comedy is a craft unlike any other ever and should be above scrutiny and basically fuck you, Eva, you’re a fraud.

This got to me. This got into my head and into my confidence and started eating away. “Yeah, Eva,” I thought to myself. “Here’s someone who knows his shit, man. Here’s someone whose advice you take seriously. Here’s someone who thinks you’re a big fat phony. What the hell are you doing? Why did you even think you could do this? You’re not even funny. People probably laugh AT you rather than WITH you. Stop what you’re doing right now. Get your hand off it. Go back to fucking. You suck…”

It was horrible. I rarely suffer from self-doubt and it’s even rarer I let what other people think of me get inside my head, but this was different. This would be a bit like the porn star Belladonna (who is another of my idols and one I have had the amazing luck to have interviewed over the phone) telling me to close my legs and stop having sex because, quite frankly, I was shit at it.
It was a blow to my everything...  I really was ready to give up. I spoke to the guys at the website and told them my concerns and they told me not to worry about it. That they wouldn’t have offered me the part if they didn’t think I could do it, but still I worried.

And then the emails and messages came. Now I have mentioned earlier that I have quite a few friends who are in the comedy biz. At the time I didn’t know who or how many people had seen this exchange (Yes, it had all been done rather embarrassingly publicly on Twitter, I have since removed them from my timeline) but apparently word had got out among a few of them and they had felt compelled enough by it to contact me.

Every single one of them said pretty much the same thing. “Don’t listen to it, Eva. You’re really good at what you do. You write well. You ARE funny, and you have every right to be doing what you are doing, oh, and will you come and review my show I’ll buy you beer!”

They made me feel better. They really did. But it wasn’t until I had some of my first reviews posted on the website that I really started to believe it.  People were sharing them over the place, the comedians I was writing about enjoyed and reposted them and the public took my advice and saw the shows I’d written about and then thanked me for directing them to good stuff.

I have had a few weeks to reflect on all of this and get my head around it. Out of all the comedians I know and have since met in this amazing Melbourne festival, the only negative reaction I have had was from one person. One. No-one else. And that, to me, says more about them than it does me or my skills. I always try to look at things in a glass-half-full way, and this is no exception. It just took a little longer.

                A couple of things I will add, in response to the “coming from a place of no experience” comments and the “you’re not a comedy specialist” digs, are that yes. He is right. When it comes to writing comedy reviews I haven’t got much experience. But, like all people, in all things that they do, they have to start somewhere and, luckily for me, I have got quite a bit of writing and reviewing experience under my belt, albeit in another genre.

Also I AM funny. I write damn good stories and have a way of expressing myself on paper and in person that is amusing and sometimes even laugh-out-loud funny. Okay, I may not have the experience of putting myself out there like a comedian trying to make people laugh, but if you think I haven’t stood up in front of a mass of people and bared my raw soul for all to see (and judge and scrutinise and whisper harshly about) then you’re sorely mistaken. I have stood in front of crowds and read out my own erotic writing and experiences including a blow by blow (pardon the pun) description of fellatio and cunnilingus and once I even re-wrote a scene in 50 Shades Of Grey to involve a gay kiss between two rather prominent and uber-hetero male radio presenters that was then read out on a national prime time show.

As for having no credibility to be judging others I will say this. I have never, nor will I ever judge anyone who has put themselves out there in a position of vulnerability. I just won’t. It is soul damaging and mean and not who I am in the slightest. I think the terms “critic” and “review” sit uncomfortably in a lot of people’s head because (and this happens) it means people can put you down, tell you where you went wrong, and judge (like Roosevelt says) from the relative safety of the critics chair. I don’t and will never “review” like that.

If you have a read of the ones I have done for the festival (blatant self- promotion here’s a link to ALL my reviews http://whatsoncomedy.com/author/evas/ ) you will see not a single judgement of harshness. What you see is a description. An observation of what I saw and what the basic premise for the show was. My experience and past as a sex worker is perfect for this. Let me explain how.

One of the most common questions I get from people about sex work is “But what if they’re old and fat and ugly?? How do you possibly enjoy it then?”
The answer is simple (well simple for me, I understand not everyone is like this) Everyone, absolutely everyone has something redeeming and endearing about them. Everyone. And, as a good sex worker, it is my job to find it and I have to say, in all the years and all the men and all the sex, I’ve come across maybe three people I couldn’t find something nice about.

I look at these comedy gigs the same way. Even if the show is the equivalent of a fat sweaty old man there will be something I can write positively about it. (Hell I probably could have written Tracy Morgan a good review) Even if I don’t “get it” or find it funny I can do that. Why? Because humour is subjective. The audience watching is reacting, laughing, clapping, joining in… Who am I to say it’s shit just because I don’t find it funny. It’s not about me.

And that’s the thing really, isn’t it. It’s not about me. Nor is it about letting other people’s judgement and ideas of you stop you from being who you are and doing what you love. It’s just about living.

So love what you do and do what you love and life will always come up smelling peachy. Or at least, a super cute comedian you have a bit of a crush on will hug you close and tell you you’re pretty damn special.

(I would just like to add that as much as this person hates critics and thinks the art of reviewing is one left to dogs and their fleas... He has NO problem retweeting, reposting and linking to any and every review and commentary on his latest offerings... But hey, don't take it personally, Eva... It's really not about you... Honest... )

Video response with Angry Aussie to Caroline Norma's piece in the age where she calls for the re-criminalisation of sex work and refers to "Prostituted Women" being exploited and how bad "pimps" are...

Norma-Lising Bigotry

You know those times when someone goes spouting off on a subject they know very little about and, as someone who DOES know a bit about it, you start to get cross that they're misusing information, twisting facts and not really giving out proper, correct information?

Yeah, I hate that too.

Then, imagine that person getting paid to spout these views to a mass of people who really don't know the truth from the lies and so take this person's drivel as truth because, well, they've been PAID to say it in a national newspaper so it MUST be true?

Yeah.

Yeah I really hate that too.

Dr Caroline Norma (a lecturer on Social Sciences at RMIT) has done just this with her poorly researched Op Ed piece in the Age on June 19 2012.

Dr Norma's Piece

Her condescending tone and disgust for the profession is apparent within her first sentence with the obvious use of quotation marks wrapped around the term Sex Worker. Like it's not really a real word. Just one the workers have made up for themselves to feel some semblance of self respect...

She then continues on with her "better than you" type of attitude throwing out "facts" about an industry she has no idea about, as if she were feeding breadcrumbs to pigeons...

Oh wait. She is. Little breadcrumbs of misinformation and bigotry to a bunch of people who really have no idea about the truth.

On the day she wrote her awful piece many sex workers both past and present, both male and female, stood up and said "Hang on,. This isn't right! Can we talk to you about this. Can we offer some real facts, real information, real firsthand actual knowledge..."

And Caroline went silent.

She was appealead to over twitter, over Facebook, over blogs. She was contacted via phone, via email, via calls to her place of work.

Nothing.

For example, Holly (@HollyInAlbury on Twitter) a sex worker from regional Victoria appealled to Caroline in her blog to leave the speaking about sex work to the people who know about sex work. I mean, we wouldn't let a plumber talk to us about heart surgery would we?

You Can Read Holly's Piece Here

Male sex worker, and well-known sex worker rights activist Christian Vega (@ChristianBVega on Twitter) appealed to her on social media and his blog, putting forward a notion that many people don't actually think about (Dr Norma being one of them) that sex workers are not ALL female and that generalisations are harmful and damaging and that stigmas and stereotypes are wrong and can really hurt the movement for acceptance and better laws and regulations.

Christian's Piece is here

Newcastle-based escort Luscious Lani (@LusciousLani on Twitter) has tried to not only talk to her over Twitter, email and phone, she has also extended an invitation to Dr Norma to come to her home. Visit a real sex worker. Talk to her and others about her piece and the ramifications it has to our industry, our jobs and, to be blatantly honest, our emotions (being told you're a down-trodded exploited woman can be quite confronting when you know you're not).

You can read Lani's invitation Here

Has Caroline RSVPd to this invitation?

No.

Has she acknowledged this outcry from Australian sex workers?

No

I too would like to offer myself to Carloine Norma as someone within the industry who spends a great deal of time talking to and talking about sex work and sex workers and who is quite happy and willing to explain some things to her that seem to need explaining.

Like her lack of understanding on the things that most of us Aussie sex workers do NOT have to deal with...Like pimps. Like exploitation. Like drugs. Like sexual abuse. Like danger. Like rape. Like every other bad thing she put through in her piece without acrtually speaking to a single person involved in the Australian Sex industry.

Has she seen that a hell of a lot of us are university graduates and can hold an intelligent conversation?

Does she realise many of us are in relationships and have children and families and great ones at that?

Does she realise that very few of us are drug addicts and do this as a last resort attempt at earning money?

Well, if she doesn't, she will soon because there are a lot of us and we are not happy. All you have to do is search Caroline Norma on Twitter and you will see the army of sex workers, clients and their supporters who have stood up to say "We will not allow your bigoted narrow-mindedness stop us. We will fight for what we believe in and we will prove you wrong."

If you'd like to join the fight for the rights of sex workers not to be exploited and misrepresented in the media by people who claim to be intelligent beings, please head over to Lani's Website (Yep click it it's a link) and look to the left at the "rants and ramblings" tab and add your voice along with many other sex worker supporters, whether they work in the industry, use the services, or just support us as workers in general...

Happy Hooking! - DB!

Video: That's Not My Name. Parody Song

One of my gorgeous sex worker friends @HollyInAlbury (go follow her on Twitter, seriously!) has made an awesome pro sex work video.

I love this so much. It's fun and funny, but also has a really strong message.

Respect Sex Workers!!

Video: Craig Thompson and the 1%

Angry and I discuss the allegations against Craig Thompson and the media's unrelenting focus on only 1% of the $600,000 that was allegedly misused...

Unsexy Times...

This is probably one of the most common questions I (and I am sure other sex workers) get asked... My answer is always the same... So I thought I'd post it up here. This is a mix and match of a few different pieces I've written over the years for People Mag...

Q: Do you ever have times when you just can't get in the mood for sex? I'm sure you're not “on” all the time. And what if the guy is really fat and ugly? What do you do then?

Surprisingly enough, even a super sex goddess like myself has down days. We all do. It's a part of life. You know those days when you hate everyone and want to avoid human contact wherever possible. Where no matter what anyone says or does they're just irritating and in your way and you wish you were like one of those lizards that can flash bright, warning colours so other creatures know to stay away. Or those blue days when you just feel low for no reason and even shitty ads on TV make you want to weep.

For me, those sorts of days are never anything too serious, I'm generally a pretty happy and positive person and usually reserve those sorts of moods for when I'm having my period. But every now and then, sometimes for no particular reason, I have a bit of a blah moment. 

Like I might wake up with a horrible red pimple right in the middle of my face or feel bloated and sluggish from something I ate the day before. My hair might be having one of its fits and morphed itself into an untameable crazy-cat-lady style, or I could just get up on the wrong side of bed and be in a “Don't-talk-to-me-til-I've-had-my-coffee” kind of mood. Whatever it is, there are some days when I look at myself in the mirror and think “ugh, what happened to you??”

It helps if you're able to recognise these moods because there's usually something you can do to make yourself feel a bit better, and it also helps if people around you can spot them too.

Of course, if you're anything like me, you'll probably want to rip the head off the person who even merely suggests you might be in a bad mood, but at least they'll know to steer clear, or bring you chocolate, or not completely hold a grudge when you go mental at them for chewing their toast too loudly. 

When I was working and having one of those days the last thing I wanted to do is work. I don't think it would be fair of me to turn up and give a half hearted service or be irritable and unfriendly towards the client. Not only would it be completely unprofessional of me, it would also be a waste of my clients' time and money. The whole point of my job, and the most important aspect of it, is making the client feel good so I usually won't take any bookings if I'm feeling lack lustre. Of course, considering I often worked late into the night, there have obviously been a couple of times where I've felt tired and over it but have a job booked, so there are certain things I can do to help me perk up a bit.

The first thing I try and do is eat the right food for the right moment. For example, if I know I'm going to be at a job for more than a couple of hours then I make sure I eat bananas or Weetbix or some other low GI food before I leave, which keeps my stamina up for the job. I also try and make sure I have something like a bag of barley sugars or jelly snakes in the car. The quick sugar fix is great for a quick burst of energy, especially at 3am when it's just too ridiculous to think of having a coffee or energy drink.

I should point out, however, that I am very lucky in the fact that it doesn't take a lot for me to want to have sex. Getting “in the mood” isn't something I have to work too hard at, I'm almost always up for the suggestion. I can't really explain it, I've always been this way. If I could bottle it I would and not only make myself rich, but make millions of people around the world happy and satisfied.

But, in saying all that, sometimes it's not me at all. Sometimes, no matter how “in the mood” I am something about the job just turns me off.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don’t have too many expectations when I go to a booking. I know not every job is going to be with a super-spunky, mega-rich playboy in a suite at the Hyatt and that’s okay. I genuinely enjoy meeting people. I really do. I like people, and people are short, tall, fat, thin, bald, hairy, old and young. I honestly don’t give a crap about that outer stuff. I've met enough good looking guys who are idiots and not-so good looking guys who are fabulous to know that the aesthetics don't count.

You could be a lawn mower or a lawyer; eighteen or eighty, it really doesn’t matter. The only thing I expect, and I don’t think it’s too much to ask, is that A) you are friendly, and B) you are clean.

As for the first part, I luckily haven’t come across too many total fuckwits - it’s not that easy being a bastard when a gorgeous girl has your cock in her hands - but when it comes to the latter, there have been a few times when I've turned up at a job and the guy is unclean and totally smelly.

Just so you know, I’m not really talking about those been-out-all-night-drinking-and-dancing smells, those are the inevitable odours of a night on the town and, although they don’t compare to baking bread or fresh brewing coffee, I can usually handle them. But there’s one smell that gets to me and makes taking my clothes off the last thing I want to do, and that’s the rancid, sour smell of stale sweat.

You know the one that lingers in stifled peak-hour trains in summer and seems to permeate and take up residence in your nostrils so that even when you've got off the train and back into the fresh air you can still smell it? Yeah... That's the smell I mean.

I could understand if I was to get to the client's place at 5:30pm and, because he's just finished work, he is still in his work clothes and hasn't had time to shower or change, but I’m talking about those times when I get there around 9pm and he's still in those clothes. The sweat patches have dried to these greasy, yellow-looking stains under the armpits and around the collar, there’s a bit of lunch still on the front of his shirt and everything he has eaten and drunk since waking up is still on his breath.

I mean come on. It’s not like they didn’t know I was coming over, like I just turned up unannounced on the doorstep looking for a booty call. They've called and arranged the specific time for me to arrive and, not only that, they've called for the sole reason of getting as physically close to another person as one can get. Surely there was enough time to jump through the shower or at least change clothes.

Usually I can avoid being rude or causing embarrassment by suggesting we start the booking with a shower or, if available, a spa. Even if they're not all stinky, it’s a great way to start a sexy session anyway. If that doesn’t work then I’ll go to plan B: A sensual massage with aromatic oil. It’s not as effective as actually washing, but it does an okay job of masking the smell for the hour or so I’m with them and, just like the shower, it’s a fun way to get things going.

But really, Guys, if you're reading this, the next time you arrange for a sexy visitor to come over, give yourself a bit of a sniff or, better yet, once you’ve made the call, just go straight to the shower to have a wash and clean your teeth. It’s really not that hard and, most importantly, makes it a better night for everyone involved. And by everyone, I mean me... I know you'll have a good time, no matter what!

That Tingly Feeling

I used to think of myself as a pet person, I personally have a couple of cats a bunny and some fish, but ever since I’ve been working, and have come across the various animals people have, I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong.

I mean, there was that time those horrible yap-dogs ripped apart my underwear, and that time I had to nakedly chase a rabbit around a garden, and I thought those pets were bad enough, but then, a few weeks ago, I met Roy and Hilda.

Now, before you start getting all excited about a smokin’ hot threesome I should stop and let you know that Roy and Hilda were not my clients.

Jim was my client, and Roy and Hilda were his pet tarantulas.

Freakishly large and hairy, they sat in this huge aquarium, their legs all twitchy and gross, and just stared at me with those horrible eyes on stalks.

I faked my way through the whole “ooh you have interesting pets” thing, smiling and nodding as he told me all about their diet and habitat, all the while resisting the urge to do what I normally do when faced with a fuck-off large spider in front of me: Scream, Squish, or Spray, or all of the above.

After a crash course in tarantulas 101, which I hastily swept to that corner of my brain where all useless and creepy info gets stored (like certain scenes from Freddy Got Fingered, and the weird shape of my exes penis), he took me into the bedroom and, perhaps sensing my goose-pimply apprehension, assured me that the bedroom was spider free.

Things were getting hot. He’d put on some music and dimmed the lights and was slowly kissing his way down my neck. He’d shed his jeans, revealing a thick, cut cock, which I’d wrapped my hand around, and with each little pull and squeeze I gave it, he moaned and kissed harder onto my skin.

I lay back on the bed, my hair tickling my skin as it fell over my shoulders and arms, and suddenly my head was filled with images of spidery legs, hairy and hideous, walking all over me.

Involuntarily I screamed, jumping back on the bed and began crazily swiping away at my arms and body like some kind of deranged mental patient.

Jim was obviously used to it because he hardly flinched and just sat on the end of the bed watching me, with a slightly amused look on his face.

After about five minutes I calmed down and he sort of laughed.

“I told you there were no spiders in here,” he said.

The rest of the booking went okay, I managed to keep my mind mostly on the job, but every now and then something would brush my arm and I’d get all shivery again.

As I was leaving he asked if he could see me again. My eyes flickered to the tank behind him and he hastily added that he’d make sure he booked a hotel room for next time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for animals and pets and people who love animals and pets, but please, is it too much to ask that you treat your pet spiders like your porn collection and just hide them when you invite a girl over? It would really make for a much better evening and, trust me, a way better fuck.

Naked Noodles and Other Stories

Like I’ve said before - and will probably say again - everyone has fantasies and fetishes, and everyone’s idea of what is sexy or a turn on is different. Some of them I totally understand and share myself, others I can see why it’s a turn on but they personally do nothing for me, and then there are the ones that either gross me out a bit or completely mystify me.

I’ve encountered so many different fantasies and fetishes since I started working - indulging in (and enjoying) quite a few - and it’s rare that I ever come across something that I haven’t at least heard of. In saying that, though, there are so many variations and different aspects to sexual fantasy that each one is as individual as the person who desires it.

Some are more of the visual sort; watching porn, dressing up, putting on a show, mirrors and things like that.

Like I remember I used to see this guy, Dan, who loved watching me play with a vibrator. Of course, that isn’t a rare request at all, but Dan was the first person I’d ever met that wanted to watch me do it on the kitchen table while he made pasta. Always pasta. I never found out why.

There are fantasies about specific body parts like toes, arses, belly buttons and nipples – One guy I met would come by getting me to squeeze on his earlobes as he fucked me, another loved me to tickle his feet with my hair.

For some people there needs to be pain and/or control involved; hot wax, fingernails, bondage and discipline, and other people get off on adrenaline and risk – fucking in public, taboo partners (like your wife’s sister, or your daughters piano teacher) and other elicit affairs.

Laura and Max, a couple I once saw, had an appetite for make-up sex. You know, the passion-filled and anger-fuelled fuck you have after an argument. But, because they hardly ever fought for real, they would have these pretend bust-ups about trivial things – the toilet seat being left up, what to watch on TV etc – and sometimes, usually when on holiday, they would have these loud, melodramatic arguments in public full of accusations of betrayal, name calling and lots of crying and flouncing off, before heading back to the hotel for crazy, hardcore make-up sex. In the booking I had with them, Laura “caught” Max and me in the act, resulting in a huge “fight” and some very hot threesome sex. I must admit it felt very strange, sitting naked in the bed while these two went off at each other. It was quite full on. If I hadn't known it was all an act I would have been terrified! She really laid into him!

I have to admit, though, some of them can make me laugh more than anything, and I there have even been a few times when I’ve felt downright silly. Like this guy I (privately) nicknamed Dick Chasey because whenever I’d go to see him the job always started with us getting naked and me chasing him around his house trying to catch him by his dick. Harmless, yes. Embarrassing, very. I don't like to run at the best of times, let alone naked with my boobs bouncing around and my butt all wobbly. But he loved it and I really did enjoy satisfying his itch. Which was always proof to me I was in the right job.

I honestly think, when it comes right down to it, if it’s not hurting anyone (unless of course that’s the fantasy) then there really isn’t anything wrong with a little naked pasta making. Noodle anyone?