What does it feel like to get paid for sex? On the one hand, people get paid for different kinds of services, and sex could just be considered as one of them. On the other hand, people often get rewarded for sex as well. But how is it different when it is not a job, social comfort, or a new dress, but money that you get in return for sex? Does it feel wrong and embarrassing, or is it just the matter of saying, “Yes, why not?” for the first time? Sensa Nostra talks to a girl who once dared to say yes and to name her price.
The word ‘sex’ was always a kind of taboo in my family. My mom would never talk to me about how it was going to be the first time, or whether I should wait for the right guy. My mom was working at a factory at that time and she had some more important stuff to worry about than sexual education of my sister and me. I suppose nobody ever educated her on that subject, and sexual matters were not of the utmost importance. Buying food and clothes for us seemed to be a greater urgency. My sister and I were not allowed to watch movies which might have some ‘bedroom’ scenes. But there is nothing extraordinary about that, it was rather common for the society and time at which I was growing up. Of course we watched the movies secretly and of course the first time happened. The guy did not care much about my personality, but he knew where to put his thing, so everything went quite well.
I was never uncomfortable thinking or talking about sex. It was always very natural for me. I’ve always realized I was not a beauty queen, but I have nice legs and my boobs are firm, so I was not having any problems getting laid as a teenager. Guys are not very picky at that age. I had a couple of boyfriends, and if there was someone at a party who would want to have sex with me or who I would want to have sex with, I would just do it. No waiting for a prince.
As I moved out of my parents’ house and had to start living on my own, I realized it is not that easy to be a grown-up. My parents supported me financially but I never had money to buy new dresses or heels, which I wanted so much. My girlfriends were seeing guys and were often looking for financial support from their side, but it was not really working for me. I suppose it was because I never looked fancy enough for a guy who had money. Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind.
I was living in an apartment with four other girls, all coming from provincial towns, all looking for a better life. The better life was not happening and it was quite annoying. Once I met this girl at my university. We were smoking outside together—she was smoking Davidoff slims,which I found extremely fabulous at that time—and she asked me if I wanted to go to a party with her to meet some ‘right people’. I was so fascinated by her Davidoffs that I would follow her to the end of the world.
So we went out together a couple of times. She saw I was quite easy-going and then introduced me to this guy who offered me a job. It wasn’t full-time, and I didn’t have to stand in the street in high heels. I would get a call, had to be at some bus stop in a couple of hours, and would be picked up. The guy knew all his clients, so there was not much risk. I also wasn’t afraid of police because I was not going up to men on the street, it was always by appointment.
The thing is I never really felt disgusted by what I was doing. I always felt like, “Okay, now I’m going to work. This is my job, I spend time with men, men are men, sex is sex.” I had time for my studies as well and I didn’t have to worry about food or heels anymore. There was never drama in my attitude, I actually felt quite lucky to have this job. The city was big, I had no acquaintances from my hometown, so I was not worried someone would tell my mom. I knew she wouldn’t approve.
Once I met a guy, he became my boyfriend, and I was thinking of quitting my ‘job’, but it just didn’t work out for me because I was left without money. He would take me out sometimes and it was all very sweet. But he, just like me, was new in this city and had his parents somewhere, who would send him money so he didn’t starve and could take his girlfriend out for a coffee. He was studying informatics, which was supposed to be quite promising. We would stay at his place, with three other guys, and I would come back home tired. So I broke up with him and came back to my normal life.
Once I was asked if I wanted to have sex with guys who have some disabilities. I found it weird, but I thought I might give it a try. So I did. And you know, this is how I came to know some really nice guys. Some of them would have no leg or arm, or some severe burns. This made them feel defective, and they would trust me like they trust a doctor, and I would be understanding. Everybody deserves to be loved. Sometimes we just don’t realize that. I actually think that I am a very understanding person: I am rarely stressed, I do not dramatize, people say it is a pleasure to work with me.
I feel really sorry for the girls who have to stand on the street, because people are often so judgmental, and because sometimes it rains and sometimes it’s cold. I think what I do is more like freelance. If someone wants to call it prostitution, okay, whatever. I can use the word ‘prostitution’ for so many things that have nothing to do with sex. I am self-confident and independent, which is the most important for me. There are so many unsatisfied old spinsters out there that have neither happiness nor money. I don’t judge them, I just don’t care about them. If they care about me, it is their problem.
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