sex work

Camshows in Cramped Apartments: Online Sex Work During the Pandemic

Kate Sloan

Online sex work has become even more of a booming business since the COVID-19 pandemic swept the globe. Some sites, like OnlyFans and www.panamecorte.com, have experienced boosts in new memberships as high as 75%. More people than ever are turning to online sex work to supplement their income – and likewise, more people than ever are stuck at home with no access to partnered sexual experiences outside of their interactions with online sex workers. It’s no wonder this industry has seen a massive uptick.

But it’s important to note, too, that the past few years have been some of the hardest ever for sex workers, including those who work predominantly or exclusively online. Laws like SESTA/FOSTA, signed in by Trump in 2018, have severely limited sex workers’ ability to advertise their wares, recruit and vet clients, and get paid for what they do, among other things. There’s also still huge stigma surrounding sex work, despite its proliferation being such that you probably know at least one person who does it, even if you think you don’t. It may be the “oldest profession” but it’s nowhere near the easiest or most fun.

I’ve never been a full-time sex worker, but I’ve done cam shows, made porn videos, and sold nudes occasionally over the past several years – and I have to say, the pandemic has been an interesting time to be in that biz. I’ve gotten more unusual fetish requests than I ever had before, including some that were so extreme I didn’t feel comfortable fulfilling them. It makes me wonder if some people have been exploring their sexualities more deeply over the past year, since “normal life” is on pause and many of us have more time for self-reflection. (Kudos and congrats to those folks for their discoveries!) I think there’s also an element of touch-starvation here – sometimes when you’ve gone a long time without sexual contact, your fantasies can become more “out-there” to make up for the lack of physical stimulation with some additional mental stimulation.

My clients’ communiqué has been different, too – some of them are unusually polite and sweet, presumably because we’re all living through a difficult time so kindness is paramount, while some have been surprisingly brusque and rude, presumably because the conditions of this pandemic are stressful AF and have also atrophied many of our social skills. You would think people would be nicer to sex workers, given what the folks in that industry have been put through these past few years, but nah…

I’ve also had to be more careful about the ways I take payments than ever before, having been burned by whorephobic payment processors and the puritanical laws that try to keep sex workers off all such platforms. It’s gotten so bad that many times I’ve considered giving up sex work completely, and focusing only on my more “respectable” writing work. If you care about sex workers’ livelihoods (which you should), please reach out to your local lawmakers to make that clear, and to demand that they work to repeal laws like SESTA/FOSTA that make sex work much more dangerous and precarious than it needs to be.

Despite all these roadblocks, I’ve still found comfort and solace in doing online sex work (sparingly) over the past year. When a client pays me to put on a cam show or make a sexy custom video, I have to put some effort into my appearance, something I’ve often let slide during this depressing hell-year despite how good it tends to make me feel. I also have to cultivate sexual energy in myself, because it’ll be super obvious if I’m not turned on at all – so sometimes I’ll take the time to do that by using sex toys in a hot bath, or spritzing on a perfume that makes me feel like a bombshell, or just giving myself a sensual mini-massage before filming. Most of my life over the past year has existed inside a computer or a TV, so my connection to my body feels somewhat weakened – and these little preparations help.

It’s a difficult, interesting, painful, yet uplifting time to be a sex worker. If your favorite sexy service provider helped you get through this past year, I hope you’ve been tipping them accordingly, treating them well, and writing to your congresspeople to express your concerns about how sex workers are being treated in the legal system. Shit’s tough out there, and anyone who brings more pleasure into this world – sexual pleasure included – deserves to be praised and rewarded for that tenacious effort.

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Book Review: Brothel’s Kitchen

Kate Sloan

Sex work is such a normalized field in my sex-positive, feminist communities that sometimes I sort of forget just how stigmatized it is in the world at large – even among people who claim to be “liberal” and “progressive.”

Narratives persist about how all sex work is nonconsensual and exploitative, despite sex workers screaming on social media for years that they’ve chosen their career path and don’t want or need to be “rescued.” Many people still use phrases like “selling your body” to talk about what is actually just the sale of your time and your body-based services, just like what happens in many other fields like massage, modeling, and professional sports. Far too many well-intentioned people try to argue that sex work is bad because it’s “disempowering,” as if the slog of earning a living is held to the same standard of “empowerment” in any other field. It’s perplexing and enraging – especially since so many of these folks think they’re being helpful by parroting their bullshit opinions that are (you guessed it) actively disempowering to sex workers.

I think a lot of this misinformation has to do with sex work’s representation (or lack thereof) in mainstream media, from the evening news to procedural dramas to blockbuster movies. For decades, if not longer, it’s been framed over and over as something one would only do under the direst of financial circumstances, or to get access to drugs, or to quench a psychological craving based in “daddy issues” or other trauma. While obviously there is poverty, addiction, and trauma in the sex work community (just as those things exist in pretty much every other community too), these narratives usually leave out the ways in which sex work can be incredibly positive and enriching for workers and their clients. And hey, newsflash: a job doesn’t have to be 100% peachy all the time to be a valid job worthy of respect and protections. We live under capitalism! Work sucks! Let people choose work that they like to do and feel able to do, since we all have to work anyway!

All this to say, I think positive portrayals of sex work are invaluable in shifting public perception of this misunderstood field. So I was pleased to be asked to review Phillipa Zosime’s new memoir, Brothel’s Kitchen: Flavours of Women.

The book follows Phillipa’s induction into the sex work industry in Austria. It opens with a series of scenes set at a massive orgy held by one of the brothels she works for, at which she’s expected to fuck and fellate clients for 7 hours (with breaks to shower, hydrate, eat, and rest). After she enjoys herself and gets paid, there’s a classic “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation…” flashback and we turn back time to when she first entered the sex work world. Once an archaeology student and political intern, she decided instead to follow her fascination with sex and start having it professionally.

One very interesting aspect of this book to me is the details about Austria’s legal and regulated sex work industry. Regular STI tests are required, workers are considered self-employed contractors for the brothels they frequent, and meticulous paperwork is kept to make sure everything is legit. Many sex workers I know in Canada and the U.S. advocate for decriminalization rather than legalization/regulation, since (among other reasons) legislative bodies don’t tend to know very much about what sex workers and their clients actually need and want – but nonetheless, it was intriguing to hear about how brothels are apparently run over in Austria. The book goes into detail about how profits are split up between workers, madams, and house owners, as well as how much they pay in taxes and what kind of legal due diligence they’re expected to keep up with on a regular basis. These procedural minutiae ought to captivate anyone who’s curious about sex work law around the world.

Another fascinating detail from Philippa’s story is that she had only had one sexual partner before becoming a sex worker. It hadn’t been the most satisfying relationship, and she ended up having her first-ever orgasm with a client at the brothel (which became a point of pride for him and a running joke between them!). This was the point in the book when I started to get excited: it’s a really uncommonly positive depiction of what a career in sex work can be like. If there were more stories like this out there – stories that showcase the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful parts of sex work – I think far fewer people would hold shitty misconceptions about the industry.

Yes, there are scary and sad parts of Phillipa’s story. Her friend dies; clients blow up in anger on occasion; women get into snippy arguments; someone’s money gets stolen from her safety deposit box at the brothel. But all of these details just felt really real to me. Writing a fully rosy sex work memoir would, I imagine, be just as absurd as making any other career sound 100% fun 100% of the time. Life has its ups and downs, and so do our jobs, no matter what field we work in.

In addition to heartwarming sex-work friendships and heart-pounding sex-work problems, this book also contains quite a few funny stories that had me literally LOLing. There’s one in particular about one girl accidentally spitting cum onto another girl’s face that I don’t think I will ever be able to forget…

I gotta say, I liked Brothel’s Kitchen even more than I was expecting to. It’s charming, and cute, and fast-paced, and full of strange and illuminating details. There’s a disclaimer at the beginning that explains that “the events and conversations in this book have been set down to the best of the author’s ability,” and that “the author’s recollection of the past occurrences may deviate from those of others,” but there are so many parts of this book that seem like you couldn’t possibly have made them up. That realness is the heart and soul of Phillipa’s writing, and it makes this one hell of a page-turner.

 

Thanks so much to Phillipa Zosime for providing this book for me to review! This post was sponsored, which means that I was paid to write a fair and honest review of the book I was provided with. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

5 Ways to Unlearn the Anti-Black Whorearchy

Kate Sloan
Remarkable photo by Scarlet Harlot

Racism and sex worker rights are two issues at the forefront of my mind these days, as my social media feeds overflow with white supremacist police violence, loss of income for many due to COVID-19, and the continuing fallout of the whorephobic SESTA/FOSTA laws that make life more difficult for people whose lives were already pretty damn hard.

Recently I listened to a lecture Tina Horn posted to her Why Are People Into That? podcast feed on the topic of the whorearchy – which I knew existed, but hadn’t thought about in much detail before. For those who don’t know, the whorearchy is the abhorrent sociocultural system of biases by which sex workers can be ranked into a hierarchy and then judged based on their place in it. “Trashier,” “sluttier,” more dangerous and/or more stigmatized forms of sex workers tend to end up near the bottom – strippers and street-based escorts come to mind – while those seen as “classier” or less directly/physically involved with their clients tend to be ranked near the top – think webcam performers, sugar babies, and phone sex operators.

While obviously this paradigm is classist, slut-shaming, and whorephobic, it can often be overlooked that it’s also racist, and specifically anti-Black. Clients and fellow sex workers alike can have both overt and covert racist views that affect how Black sex workers are perceived and treated, and what price they can command. As a white person who only dabbles in sex work here and there, I’m going to pull from writing I’ve read from Black women and sex workers, including Daniella Barreto, Jasmine Sankofa, Terri-Jean Bedford, and more, to recommend some ways you can work to unlearn and oppose the anti-Black whorearchy you’ve likely internalized.

Learn about the labor involved in different kinds of sex work.

There seems to be a common sentiment among those who harbor unexamined whorephobia that certain types of sex work are “easy.” This is why, for example, sometimes privileged women will joke that they’ll “just get a sugar daddy” or make an OnlyFans account when they have a few extra bills to pay, as if these roles are easy ones to slip into and start making money from.

In reality, just about every sex worker out there – from a camgirl in her Toronto basement to a stripper in a sticky-floored New York club to the finest luxury escort London has to offer – puts in waaay more work than you probably think. Marketing, grooming, skill-building, fitness maintenance, client relations… These things take a hell of a lot of effort and time. Researching what’s actually involved in the different kinds of sex work – especially the kinds you view, consciously or less so, as “trashy” or “low-class” – will avail you of those misconceptions pretty quick. (Make sure you’re reading accounts written by actual sex workers!)

Shift your language.

I’ve stopped using the word “whore” the way I used to – as synonymous with “slut” – because I’ve learned from sex worker activists that it’s a term used historically to slander and stigmatize sex workers, and thus only they can choose to reclaim it for themselves. Similarly, “ho”/”hoe” is a derivative form of this word which comes from African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) and thus isn’t for white people’s use. (This is just my understanding; those in the know can feel free to correct me on this if I’m wrong.)

There are lots of unsavory slang terms for various types of sex workers, and many of them have a racist tinge (to say the least). If you’re not sure of the best terminology for a particular type of work or worker, look to the writings of the people doing that work and see which terms they prefer and why. Then, commit to shifting the language you use when you talk about these issues.

Write to your political leaders about SESTA/FOSTA.

The laws known as SESTA/FOSTA were ostensibly created to prevent sexual trafficking – but in practice, they’ve mostly just deepened the existing issue of sex workers being unable to safely advertise and conduct their work, online or off. As with pretty much any issue involving legal repercussions or financial disempowerment, this has hit Black sex workers particularly hard, since (as the news lately has loudly echoed for us) the law enforcement system is hugely racist, and Black folks are likelier than white folks to struggle with economic lack and uncertainty.

For this reason, as Amnesty International USA has argued, sex work decriminalization is a racial justice issue, among other things. Write to your political leaders to demand they work to repeal SESTA/FOSTA – or whatever other anti-sex work laws exist where you live. Many people’s lives and livelihoods depend on it.

Call out whorephobic comments when you hear them.

When I was a kid, there was a strip club in my neighborhood, so we drove by it fairly often. My parents were fortunately chill about it, but I often saw people laughing, pointing, and staring at the signage when they walked by, as if the very idea of a stripper was something to be mocked and belittled. People make whorephobic comments all the time, in a wide variety of ways – many of which are subtly or not-so-subtly racist – and a small thing you can do to fight against sex work stigma is to push back when you hear those comments being made.

While some prefer a more direct or aggressive approach, I usually like to respond to these comments calmly, with facts. When someone pityingly or disgustedly describes sex work as “selling [one’s] body,” for example, I like to point out that tons of other workers – including athletes, massage therapists, dancers, and actors – also make money from the ways they use their bodies. Sometimes the simplest rebuttals and reframes can help someone look at sex work in a new light.

Follow more Black sex workers on social media.

The fastest way to comprehend a group of people you don’t know enough about, in my experience, is to surround yourself with those people and listen to them. Even if you don’t think the anti-Black whorearchy informs your perspective, it probably does – and you can shift its insidious influence over time by just spending more time reading the thoughts, opinions, and work of Black sex workers.

I need to do better at this, myself – most of the sex workers I follow are white, so I know I’m only getting a limited view of the industry and the problems within it. The @BlackSexWorkers account is no longer active, but its Following and Followers lists look like a good place to start. Feel free to recommend folks to follow in the comments if there are any Black sex workers you find delightful/enriching to follow!

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own. I donated $50.00 USD/$70.00 CAD of my sponsorship fee for this post to the Black Sex Worker Collective; feel free to match me if you have the means!

Can Camming Be Sex?

Kate Sloan

Here’s a story I’m embarrassed to share. (Gosh, that should just be the tagline of this blog, shouldn’t it?)

My first serious relationship was a monogamous one, but I still thought it would be fine to show off my naked body online. Of course, it crossed my mind that my boyfriend might have an issue with it, but the odds seemed too low to bring it up. (I know. I know. Don’t worry, I’ve learned better communication skills since then!)

So I would post nudes on illicit subreddits, and tease Twitter with my cleavage, and even do occasional cam shows – getting naked, jerking off with toys, the whole shebang. (I know. I KNOW.)

Of course, when my boyfriend found out about this, he was upset. We talked about it, and I stopped. Part of our initial disagreement on this matter came from differing definitions of relationship boundaries, which we should’ve talked about earlier – I believed my body was mine to show off as I pleased, short of actually having any kind of sex with other people. But the other basis for our disagreement was that exact definition of sex. I had, by that point, broadened my view of sex to include things like fingering, handjobs, and oral sex, but it had never really occurred to me to consider cam shows a type of sex. They were a sexual interaction, sure, and they could be sex work in some transactional contexts, but I didn’t think of them as the type of sex one would have to reserve only for one’s partner in a monogamous relationship.

Fast-forward the better part of a decade, and now I’m in a long-distance relationship. By necessity, I’ve come to view the various types of digitally-enabled long-distance sexual communication I engage in – sexting, phone sex, and yes, cam shows – as valid forms of sex. After all, they make up the bulk of my sex life at this point, and are every bit as arousing, exciting, intimate, and connective as the in-person sex I have with my partner. It would be selling both of us short to insist that these things are not sex.

Nothing sexual is ever quite that simple, though. I can’t say I always felt like I was “having sex” when I performed online for paying customers, trying to tune out their watchful eyes as I fucked myself with a dildo – but was I having sex? Do both people have to have their webcams turned on for it to “count” as sex? Is a sex cam show (as in, a show where two or more people are fucking on camera) different from a masturbation cam show, in that the viewer is more of a viewer than a direct participant? As we’ve seen countless times before, technology solves many sexual problems, but raises a slew of new sexual questions at the same time.

Bummer alert: I’m thinking about these types of questions a lot more now that we’re in the midst of the COVID-19 outbreak. A BuzzFeed article reports some people are sexting with their Tinder matches in lieu of meeting them at bustling bars and the like. The virus may abound in public places, but you’re more-or-less safe behind the screen of your phone, tucked securely away in your apartment. Around the time of the AIDS crisis, the concept of “safer sex” spread to the masses, but just last year I saw a Reddit post from an “incel” claiming that sex with a condom on doesn’t “count” as real sex. Digital forms of sex, too, are simultaneously decried as a poor substitute for “the real thing” and lauded as a safer alternative to physical closeness. Whether the “protection” you’re using is a condom or a smartphone, I don’t think the sex you’re having is any less real than unprotected and traditional types.

I think ultimately we are free to define sex in different ways; we don’t all have to agree on one definition, and we couldn’t even if we tried. I look forward to a future where our definition of sex gets broader and broader, so it can include more people, more safely.

 

Heads up: this post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

The Sometimes-Blurry Line Between Content Creators and Fans

Kate Sloan

“Dating a porn star isn’t all roses / She leaves you home on a Saturday night / You can go crazy from thoughts and supposes / And lose the thin thread between what’s wrong and right” -The Weepies, Dating a Porn Star

It seems like every creator of sexual content has a slightly different stance on dating and fucking their fans. I’ve known sex workers and porn stars who found the very idea laughable – but I’ve also known strippers and escorts who got into some of their most loving and healthy relationships with people who were originally their customers.

As for me, the last 3 people I’ve dated (including my current partner) started as “fans” of mine, although to varying degrees. They all followed me on Twitter, had listened to several episodes of my podcast, and had checked out my blog. But I suppose what they all had in common was that as soon as they met me, they seemed to start viewing me as a person, rather than just a Sexy Lady On The Internet. There was a knowledge imbalance between us – they knew way more about me than I knew about them, at first – but it didn’t exactly feel like a power imbalance, because they didn’t put me on some weird pedestal like an object to be worshipped or ogled.

I hesitate to tell stories like this in public, because I worry it might further the notion that dating a porn star you’ve jerked off to, or a dominatrix you’ve done a few sessions with, is a feasible thing to hope for. The thing is, it might be, but the type of person who would seize on this possibility is often the exact kind of person sex workers don’t want to date: boundary-crossing, pedestalizing, fervent fans who mistake skilfully-established rapport for an actual connection. Sex workers – myself included, when I dabble in paid cam shows or dirty chat – often spend tons of time fending off entitled weirdos who don’t think the services we provide are worth paying for, but want them nonetheless. I’m conscious of perpetuating a Pretty Woman-esque myth that might drive even more of these creeps to push service providers’ boundaries and pay them not enough, or nothing at all, for the privilege.

But all of that said, sometimes it seems like dating fans (who later become, of course, more than just fans) is my best recourse, in a world as sex-negative as this one. Bros on Tinder sometimes balk at what I do, either because they’re intimidated by my level of sexual experience and the public nature of my sex life, or because they think sluts are gross… in which case, begone from my life, boys! Those who already follow me on Twitter, etc., on the other hand, already know “my deal” – so we’ve got a good starting point for the classic “Can I write about the sex we just had?” convo that inevitably occurs early in the dating process for me, and I can more-or-less trust they don’t think I’m a disgusting monster for having sucked a few dicks in my time. It’s starting at square three instead of square one – small, maybe, but not nothing. I only want to date people who can support me fully, including in the work I do.

Sometimes this type of relationship goes sour when it turns out that your former-fan-now-partner actually doesn’t support your choice of career. Maybe they think it’s fine for them to communicate with porn creators all they like, but get jealous and possessive when you… continue the work you were doing for years before you met them. Maybe they expect you to give up stripping, escorting, or camming in order to be with them – as though money is just going to materialize from somewhere else because they became threatened by other fans trying to pursue you just like they did. This is always a concern when beginning a courtship with a fan, and I’ve seen it happen many times. While it’s true that healthy relationships often involve compromise and the reshuffling of life priorities, you don’t have to put up with anyone asking you to change your entire career path to spare their feelings. If the main benefit of dating a fan is that they know “your deal” already, it’s odd that those very same people will sometimes turn on a dime and ask you to disavow the entire “deal” that made you capture their attention in the first place.

Like I said, there are no hard and fast rules about how (or whether) this type of relationship can or should work. You can’t know whether a content creator is open to a romantic relationship sans financial compensation unless you ask them. But just asking them isn’t enough – you first have to prove you’re a respectful, interesting person, capable of viewing the object of your affections as more than just an object. That may not even be enough to get them on board with the idea, and that’s absolutely fine – respecting their boundaries is crucial. But I would be remiss to say you should never approach a sexual media-maker with romantic intentions – because some of my most epic love stories have begun when a fan of mine decided they might like to be more than that, and I decided I might like to let them.

 

This post was sponsored by SWAG, the biggest adult dating and video site in Asia. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.