The Moment I Knew: Sex Worker Origin Stories

I wish I could say I’ve always dreamed of being a sex worker, that I’m now living my childhood fantasy, embracing the career I was destined for, finally living with my truth. That deep down, I’d always known this was my calling, and that today, I’m lucky to do something I’m passionate about and even better, to get paid for it.

But that wouldn’t be true.

Sex work was never part of my vision for adulthood. Growing up, I wanted to be an actress, a teacher, a doctor. All at once. I dreamed of saving lives, educating others, and performing. After all, the adults in my life juggled multiple jobs, so why couldn’t I?

It wasn’t until later that I realised this “juggling” wasn’t fuelled by passion but by necessity. And, if I’m being honest, necessity is what eventually led me to sex work.

A seed of curiosity

The first time the idea of sex work crossed my mind, I was a teenager. I remember watching porn and wondering What if I did this? What if that was me? But the thought was fleeting, quickly dismissed by my insecurities: I hate my body too much.

The idea resurfaced in my late teens and twenties. I was low on cash, working at McDonald’s while studying and discovering feminism. I watched a documentary on sex trafficking and couldn’t help but question its narrative. Are these women really either victims or nymphomaniacs, as they’re portrayed? For the first time, I began to consider sex work seriously, although my mind was still clouded with internalised whorephobia.

It wasn’t until I faced financial pressure that I acted on these thoughts. During one of the pandemics, desperation drove me to Google the agencies I had seen advertised. I didn’t overthink it: I need money, let’s give this a try. That was the beginning.

My first steps into sex work

When I signed up with a webcamming agency, I had little idea what I was stepping into. I spoke to a lady over the phone, answering questions that ranged from “Why do you want to do this?” to “Can you describe your body for me, hun?” My answers to most of her questions were blunt: “I just need money.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do or show anything you’re not comfortable showing, hun. But obviously, you’ll make way more money if you tease a little, show a boob here, an arse cheek there, you know, nothing too extreme. Obviously I’d totally understand if you'd rather not show your face. But those who do make bank, you know!”

“Nothing too extreme” became a phrase I heard a lot from the agency. At the time, I wasn’t sure what would count as extreme.

After being signed up on an adult platform by the agency and completing a few camgirl shifts, I paused to think. Did I really want to keep doing this?

A decision, not a choice

I didn’t become a sex worker because I wanted to, nor did I choose it in the way people often imagine. I decided to do sex work. Talking about decision makes more sense to me, because sex work wasn’t merely the result of being presented with a menu of options and simply picking one. It was the result of careful consideration of my financial needs, my abilities, and the circumstances of my life.

It’s not a choice I made once, it’s a decision I continue to make, every day that I stay in this profession.

I can’t pinpoint a single moment when I knew I wanted to be a sex worker, but I can speak on the many occasions I decided to keep going.

The moments that keep me here

One of those moments happened when I was working a front-of-house job while studying and doing sex work on the side. As a customer belittled me for the umpteenth time, I remember thinking, I’m not getting paid £12 an hour to deal with verbal abuse. I quit soon after.

Another moment came during an appointment with a client who is now a regular. After our session, he thanked me, saying it was one of the best things that had happened to him in years. He doesn’t even know the real me, I thought as I hugged him goodbye. But later, alone in my hotel room, I felt an unexpected warmth. I had genuinely enjoyed our time together. I realised that the “real me” wasn’t actually too separate from the person I was at work, but rather a mix of her and many other things.

Then there was the time my physical health wasn't great, and my mental health even worse. I couldn’t work, so I focused on recovery, surrounded by supportive friends. When I got better, I realised that being able to take days or weeks off without financial ruin was a privilege I had never experienced before sex work.

What sex work means to me

People come to sex work for many reasons, and I don’t believe any one reason is more valid or noble than another. Survival looks different for everyone, and I’m not in a position to judge what constitutes a “good” or “acceptable” reason to enter this field.

What I do know is this: right now, sex work gives me a level of freedom I’ve never experienced before. It allows me to pay my rent, support myself, and even ironically, to fulfil some of my childhood dreams. In this work, I educate, perform, and sometimes even change lives.

And in doing so, I’ve realised that maybe, just maybe, the “real me” was here all along.

Are you a sex worker with a story, opinion, news, or tips to share? We'd love to hear from you!

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