My 25 years as a prostitute

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It took me several months of living next door to a prostitute before I realised what my neighbour did for a living. To be fair, why should I have? But after I got to know my neighbour, who is more than happy for me to talk about her occupation and her life but preferred to remain anonymous, I not only learned about her job but also discovered a series of fascinating things about her which proved that, despite stereotypes of red lights and fishnet stockings, those who use sex as an income can be as everyday as you or I. I discovered this through the manner in which she told me what she did. We happened to pass by each other and enjoyed our usual small talk about the weather before she asked what my job is. An escort or prostitute if you like! Her clients take their shoes off outside her door. There may be dirty goings on inside, but she does not want any dirt dragged in on to her carpets. Fair enough.

Beefy, healthy, independent people can find themselves in the white-knuckled grip of a toxic relationship. Relationships evolve. They adjust and they grow. Sometimes they accident and they burn. You can adhere to that one. Wanna get some tequila baby? We love love. Of avenue we do.

An apparently average, thirtysomething, middle-class man, Ben had taken an extended lunchbreak as of his job in advertising to address about his experiences of buying femininity. Shy and slightly nervous, he told me, I am hoping that chat about it might help me act out why I do it. I, too, was hoping to understand his motives better. Ben was one of men interviewed for a major global research project seeking to uncover the reality about men who buy femininity. The project spanned six countries, after that of the customers we spoke en route for in London — where I was one of the researchers — a good number were surprisingly keen to discuss their experiences. The men didn't fall addicted to obvious stereotypes. In the main they were presentable, polite, with average-to-good collective skills.