I interviewed at my first whore house early in 2019. I was pre top surgery and early on Testosterone. The house head sat me down, giving my body a thoughtful once over. I had the standard bingo card full of baby trans guy traits: Sweaty and itchy from testosterone, a closet full of half binders to attempt something resembling a flat chest, and the slightest whisper of facial hair tickling my chin. Despite that, I knew I could still pass for a woman; my hourglass figure was difficult to hide.
I was the first trans sex worker to ever work at that location, a co-op house of independent contractors, and the first male sex worker as well. My friend had referred me, and scored me an interview.
“How do you want to identify, for marketing, I mean?” The head of the house was genuine and curious, treading carefully around pronouns. She’d never really hung out with trans people before, at least, not knowingly. At that time, she was firmly in the learning stage of allyship.
“Masculine, I guess,” I said, despite my heavy breasts and round hips. “If you think that’s possible.”
“There’s a niche for everyone,” I remember her explaining, “so as long as you advertise yourself properly, you’ll find your own corner of the market. I just want you to be comfortable.”
She had a sharp eye for marketing and advertising, but her specialty was in cis women, so I was on my own for the masculine side of sex work.
Marketing myself was the hard part. The spa already had a set clientele who searched for cis women. I didn’t get any appointments for two months. In my first handful of sessions, my clients berated me for charging too much, even though I held the same prices as my co-workers. Others were offended that I was even offered as an option. Something wasn’t working.
So I switched my strategy, trying for every category I applied to. I posted advertisements to domme pages, male escort pages, and the unfortunately named Transsexual and Heshe pages. I organised my photos from every possible angle, and tried on every persona imaginable, from sweet to submissive, to dom and flirty. I had to constantly explain myself to clients; it was usually only trans women who advertised on transgender pages. For a while, I was the only trans man in my city advertising on that page. Some people were surprised; they hadn’t realized being trans could, in their words, “go the other way.” They’d only ever heard of trans women.
I still made very little money. I was staying afloat, but barely. It’s crushing to watch the people around you book solid when you haven’t made a dime in weeks. Being the stubborn person I’ve always been, I doubled down. I got my own phone, and split my advertisements from the spa completely. I consistently worked five to six days a week, created content for my online pages every day to build an audience.
I changed my persona from an openly trans man to a cis woman. Essentially, I went back into the closet for work. My new sex worker identity was pretty and done up, with colourful hair and a heavy set of false eyelashes. I went through a razor a day, shaving every inch of my body. I had a daily exfoliation and moisturising routine to calm the constant ingrown hairs and rash. I watched drag queen makeup tutorials on how to hide the shadow of facial hair on my chin.
Despite my apprehension towards my new feminine appearance, I did end up getting more clients. Having the money and success felt good, but every day took its toll.
Some days, I felt powerful and fierce. Other days, my return to femininity was soul crushing. I had gotten used to being myself for sex work, so losing the authenticity of my presentation shot me headfirst towards burnout. After a summer of faking womanhood, I eventually broke down.
My drinking spiralled into a daily habit. My self-harm came back, too, even though I thought I’d put it behind me years ago. I was falling apart.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I eventually sobbed to the house head, who just sighed and nodded. She had likely seen the meltdown a mile away, watching me stubbornly try to work this persona. “It’s killing me.”
Despite my apprehension towards my new feminine appearance, I did end up getting more clients. Having the money and success felt good, but every day took its toll.
I quit sex work for a few months. I had to focus on myself, and crawl out of the depression spiral I’d created for myself.
But the call of sex work is strong, and I eventually came back. This time, I was determined to do it on my own terms. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes I had in the beginning.
Somehow, I found my place.
Today, I walk the flexible line between masculine and feminine. If I’m really feeling it, I’ll dress up in my skirts and a cute coloured wig. Other days, I work my butch side. I have the freedom to choose my presentation.
Testosterone has changed my body in radical ways. My fat has shifted, and my stature is much more muscular than before. My deeper voice feels more like home, and I love my flat chest; complete with scars from top surgery.
Hormones have allowed me to advertise as a man. It took a while, but I’m finally able to make money presenting the way I want to.
My clients tend to be questioning or queer men, though I’ve had wonderful experiences with people of varying genders and sexualities. I just go with the flow of human sexuality. There’s a certain fluidity to my gender, so I extend the ability to break the boundaries of rigid labels to my clients.
The journey was rough, but I like where I am now in my sex work career. I know that sex work isn’t forever, so I try to make the most of it while it lasts.
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