Editor's Note: Our author Eddy shares a fiction piece that imagines what a day might look and feel like if sex work was decriminalised and a UBI (Universal Basic Income) was instituted in the UK.
At the school gates, Lauren gave her daughter a kiss and double-checked her backpack for her lunchbox.
“See you at 3,” Lauren said.
“OK,” replied her daughter.
“I love you,” she said.
“Love you too.”
Lauren smiled to herself as she walked away, feeling a strange nostalgia for the present. She knew it wouldn’t be long before any attempt to kiss her daughter goodbye at the school gates would be met with a furious, humiliated ‘Mum!’, and that she wouldn’t be caught dead telling her mum she loved her. Lauren wanted to grasp these moments and hold onto them forever. It felt impossible to fully enjoy them because she was so scared of losing them. Happy days with her daughter were always tinged with fear that things would change.
She had always been an anxious person—and, to be honest, she’d had a lot to feel anxious about. In therapy, she’d been trying to work on it for years, but before falling asleep she would always cycle through the worst case scenarios in every area of her life. No matter how she tried to frame it, to calm herself down, and to reassure herself that things weren’t so bad, reality would overtake every time. She was living on the poverty line, struggling every month to keep up with rent and bills, deep in credit card debt that made her shake with fear whenever she thought about it, which was as infrequently as she could. Her ‘prostitute’s caution’ had meant she was unlikely to ever be able to stop sex working, since a DBS check would show potential employers that she had been caught soliciting sex. Any measures to keep herself safer were criminalised, such as working with friends. Worst of all, she feared–constantly–that her daughter would be taken away from her.
Lauren wanted to grasp these moments and hold onto them forever. It felt impossible to fully enjoy them because she was so scared of losing them.
Of course, over the last few months, everything had improved dramatically. Her anxiety still lingered, as it possibly always would, because after living in fear for so many years, it was unlikely to dissipate instantly. Sure, the laws had changed, but there was always the chance things could go back to the way they were, and Lauren didn’t want to get complacent. Still, she noticed that she was sleeping much better than she used to. The most life-changing aspect was that she was no longer as scared of her daughter being taken into care. Before this, she hadn’t realised quite how many of her anxieties around other things were really disguising this one very specific terror.
She had made the decision to keep sex working for now, if it could be called a decision. Obviously the UBI payments had been life changing, and alleviated the stresses about rent and bills. Still, continuing as she had before felt easier; she wasn’t ready to make any huge decisions. For one, it felt like tempting fate, but she also hadn’t been able to get any concrete answers about exactly when the caution would be removed from her record. Everyone with these cautions had been told they would be systematically and completely stricken—but when? When could she be sure that nothing would flag up if she applied for a position asa nursery worker or childminder, which was all she’d ever really wanted to do? Sure, sex work was no longer illegal, so technically it shouldn’t be a problem, but social attitudes hadn’t shifted properly yet, at least not the way she perceived it. Nasty parents at the school gates gossiped about one another and had heard whispers of what line of work she was in. The sudden change in law had not pushed them to embrace her as an equal, nor to apologise. If an employer were forced to choose between Lauren and someone with a totally clean record, why would they ever pick her? Hopefully at some point there would be more clarity, but for now she didn’t want to risk it, especially since a lot of the most pressing dangers of sex work had now been alleviated.
Lauren walked from the school to her friend Sasha’s house. They had been working together for a few years, and although they learnt each other’s real names early on, they only ever referred to each other using their working names. It made things simpler, and avoided the risk of slipping up around clients.
Sure, the laws had changed, but there was always the chance things could go back to the way they were, and Lauren didn’t want to get complacent.
“Hey, Danni,” Sasha greeted her at the door. “Do you have anything lined up already? I just got a message about a duo at lunchtime, but I wanted to check with you first.”
“Straight to business!” Lauren laughed. “Uh, no, that sounds good.”
Weekday daytimes weren’t the busiest, but Sasha’s flat in central London was well-placed to attract men working in the city who wanted to relax on their lunch breaks, or tourists for whom the day of the week made little difference. It wasn’t quite a luxury apartment, but she had decorated it tastefully and carefully enough to pass them both off as ‘high-end’ escorts, and they’d both splashed out on expensive lingerie to complete the fantasy.
For years now, the two women had worked together in this flat. Lauren had never been able to host incalls at her own place, worried about clients knowing where her daughter lived, and was lucky to have Sasha to step in to offer her place. It had two bedrooms, so they could both see separate clients at the same time, although as it was, they rarely overlapped. The days were often quiet, and when they did get bookings, a lot of them were duos. In between, they would sit at the kitchen table and drink coffee while chatting intermittently, or scrolling on their phones. Sasha would regularly check and update her profiles; Lauren did so only when necessary, like if she changed her hairstyle.
“I know we haven’t changed our behaviour in any way, but I feel so much better now,” Sasha said.
“Yeah...” Lauren replied, hesitantly.
Sasha misread her tone. “It’s not as bad for you. I would have been done for brothel keeping because it’s my place.”
“No, I know. I know you’re in a riskier position—or, you were. I just don’t feel that much better yet. It all feels like a bit of a trap.”
“Nah, the law’s passed. We’re all good. You can relax.”
Lauren nodded, unconvinced but unable to articulate exactly why she couldn’t yet relax. It was something about living her entire life fearing authority and knowing that the people supposed to protect her and work in her interests–the police, the government, the courts, the council–were actively persecuting anyone in her position. That dread was still there, even if the material threat was gone.
“I know we haven’t changed our behaviour in any way, but I feel so much better now,” Sasha said.
After a moment, Lauren said, “Just to be clear, I do really appreciate you letting me use your place. Now, but even more so before.”
Sasha waved her off. “I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t need to thank me.”
She had one booking at midday, then the duo with Sasha, then they both had one more each in the afternoon. It was one of her best days in a while, and the knowledge that most of the day’s earnings could go into her daughter’s savings account filled her with a sense of warmth that was becoming more familiar every week.
Sasha had no children and tended to keep her ads active every evening and weekend, which was how she’d been able to afford the flat. When Lauren said goodbye at 2:30, she felt, as she often did, a deep sense of gratitude for Sasha–for her generosity with her flat, obviously, which had enabled Lauren to earn a living for so many years, but even more so for her friendship and support. They were practically sisters. They knew everything about each other, sharing fears about condoms splitting, or sharing horror stories about clients, offering a non-judgemental ear or shoulder to cry on for various personal problems since they’d first met.
The days passed in this way. Lauren spent evenings with her daughter, usually in the park during summer or bundled up at home during winter. She was now able to pay for swimming lessons for her daughter, something she’d been trying to save towards for a long time. One improvement she noticed with this new financial stability was the sense that she was able to turn down clients with red flags: those who tried to negotiate prices, or asked for services specifically excluded on her profile, or who just gave her a bad feeling when they were texting. This was a sense of power and agency that felt totally alien. Living so precariously for so many years had pushed her into riskier and riskier situations, and although Sasha’s flat had offered some sense of security, it wasn’t always available.
One improvement she noticed with this new financial stability was the sense that she was able to turn down clients with red flags...
Once, Sasha had had some family issues and gone AWOL, and with nowhere else to work from, Lauren tried soliciting clients in the street at night, leaving her daughter with a neighbour. She’d felt terrified and exposed, but it was preferable to being evicted when she was once again late paying rent, or unable to pay at all. A couple nights in a row of that, and she’d been hit with the prostitute’s caution. She walked home sobbing, feeling more scared than she ever had before, because it felt so final and so permanent. Her worst experience street walking, by far, was the night when she’d been questioned by two patrolling officers. Humiliated, she tried to ignore the contempt and disgust in their faces. Supposedly they were there to protect her from dangerous clients, but they were a much bigger threat to her safety than any of her clients had been.
Even at Sasha’s place, she had felt pressured to accept clients that her gut told her could be bad news. Sometimes her gut was wrong, but the anxiety surrounding these encounters almost wasn’t worth the money–except, of course, it was, because she had no other choice. Now, post-UBI, post-decriminalisation, she said no at the first tiny appearance of a red flag. Putting money into savings made her feel powerful and secure. She had never been particularly money-driven, and with the essentials now covered, she was just happy to earn what she could. She no longer felt that she was under the control of these men, forced to agree to services outside of her boundaries if they offered more money, or to ignore problematic behaviour.
Clearly, she was still adjusting to this new world, and it was understandable that anxieties would stick around for some time, but despite that, there were clear and material improvements that had made her life objectively better and easier. She now just needed to wait for her brain to catch up.
Check out another fiction piece on the future of sex work: A World Without Stigma.
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