I mean, my incessant rebuttles should be your sign: I won’t let you disrespect me with so many falsehoods and lies. That IS self respect. Sex work isn’t my enemy, crazy. These people aren’t the ones I need protection from. They’re normal, busy or lonely, rarely crass or cruel. Often generous and smart, invariably successful. The kind of people you want on your side. YOU are the enemy.
Look, you just don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t do this shit cuz I don’t think I can do anything else. Weirdo. I do it because it’s good money and I’ve got a life to build again cuz you keep fucking taking it. I do it because slaving away in a fast food place sounds fucking unbearable and makes me want to cry. I do it for the same reason I started doing it: I want a better life.
The constant conflating of promiscuity with mental unrest is absurd, a relic from the Dark Ages and the Madonna-Whore Complex. I get that it’s everywhere, in the Psychology manuals and the movies and the books and your parent’s mouths. But reality is socially constructed. And in this case, it’s built specifically by people who don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. Was your mother a whore?
You’re not right and you’re never gonna be right and I neither need nor want to change. I grow my own way already, toward the LIGHT. You only think you’re bright.
I do erotic massage and I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I don’t usually screw a lot of people. And the power is always mine. I like what I do and when its over, I want to use what I’ve done to do something better. I don’t want to backtrack and I don’t want to get stuck. I’m making good choices for good reasons, and you are not good. Leave me alone.