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Cosmopolitan

What it's like dating as a sex worker

'I love reading people's responses to the book,' says Eve Smith (a pseudonym). 'A few love it, some hate it, some hate me, and a few people like me. But it's doing what I intended: humanising sex workers.' Eve has worked as a sex worker for the last 20 years — she's escorted, worked in brothels, strip clubs, and online, and is now working as a dominatrix. A year ago, she published How Was It For You?, a candid, funny, and sometimes harrowing memoir about the ups and downs of a job that remains criminalised in the UK — a fact that makes Eve's, and other sex worker's, lives infinitely harder and more dangerous. 'My hope when I wrote it was that if we are seen as human, it will make it more difficult for some of the media to dismiss us as 'prostitutes',' she continues. 'That it will make it harder for a man to kill us, thinking we're disposable and that nobody cares. We all have families and friends; people that love us. And that, whatever our reason for entering the sex industry, we deserve rights. We deserve the right to a bank account [criminalisation and stigmatisation makes it hard for sex workers to access financial services]; to work together for safety; and to not get a criminal record and be trapped in a profession we may have only wanted to be in temporarily.' As well as offering a much-needed call to action for sex workers' rights, Eve's memoir is also punctuated with anecdotes from her work — the good, the bad, and the ugly. There's stories of wealthy clients, clients with idiosyncratic requests, and, sadly, some that are scary. There's tales of camaraderie with coworkers, revelations about Eve's life and interests outside of the job, and her run-ins with an unjust law system that sees her dragged in and out of courtrooms. Among the good is tales of her relationship with her now-husband Adam (also a pseudonym), who she met at work; a client turned lover. Eve ruminates on the prejudices and misconceptions people have about sex workers' romantic lives, insisting her relationship thrives away from the mainstream noise. 'Dating is a minefield whether you are a sex worker or not,' she tells Cosmopolitan UK. 'I always found online dating really depressing. The men were so pushy and aggressive. Honestly, I think I'd still be single if I hadn't met Adam in a brothel.' What was it like going from client to partner? 'It was quite seamless for me,' Eve continues. 'I met Adam when I was offering sex and he became a regular. Then he disappeared for a year and I missed him. When he got back in touch, I was domming and not offering sex — but I did want to fuck him. So I asked him out on a date and we went from there. It took him a while to trust me and, honestly, I'm not sure if he ever will entirely. But that's okay. I don't trust him completely, either! We do love each other though, and 10 years and a family later isn't a bad run.' To mark its publication in paperback, read on for two excerpts from Eve Smith's How Was It For You? about how her relationship with Adam began, and how they navigated the stigma people put on them. People are often surprised that a sex worker has a partner, as though we are in equal parts unlovable and soulless. Even some of my friends have been quick to make comments about why I, a sex worker, couldn't possibly find love. If a man ever bailed on a date, for example, the question was always, 'Does he know what you do?' It's a comment intended to make me feel dirty and ashamed. I would say nothing at the time, but later I would think about it and feel waves of anger. If even my so-called friends thought that no man could love me, then that showed me exactly what they really thought of me. Yes, they might find my stories of sex work amusing and my company entertaining, but deep down they thought I was worthless. Those are friendships I have had to rethink. But the cruellest comments are always on social media. 'Must be a pimp' is a response I have seen thrown many times at sex workers who dare to admit they have a partner. People find it hard to get their heads around how we are able to see other men for work while maintaining a personal relationship. A good, strong, and loving personal relationship. I don't think it's a difficult concept, and it comes down to this: our personal relationships are not transactional. Seeing clients is a job. I aim to keep the professional and the personal as separate as possible. I try not to talk to my clients about my partner because it's important to have a part of myself that is separate. But I have slipped up occasionally and said something about Adam that lets the cat out of the bag. One jealous client then asked what my partner and I do in the bedroom. I told him, as nicely as possible, that it was none of his business. Some clients will always want more than we are prepared to give. More of our time, our bodies, our souls, our truth. Those are not the clients we choose to spend our lives with. The ones who become our partners are the ones we can be ourselves with. No boundary pushing. No games. No bullshit. And that's what drew me to Adam; the simple honesty of what we have. Less truthfully, however, I will tell people that Adam and I met in the pub. I don't like lying — it can sometimes bring on a bout of uncontrollable twitching — but occasionally it is necessary to protect myself or somebody else. Once you tell the truth that you work in the sex industry, you can't take it back, and people almost always think less of you when they know. I usually don't give a damn what strangers think of me, but when people I care about have a diminished opinion of me, that hurts. I'll always protect Adam. When I settled down with Adam, I stopped shagging clients. I was mostly domming by then anyway, but I had a few remaining clients from my escort days and I realised very quickly I couldn't do both. If I'm honest, I enjoyed the shagging part too much. If I didn't like the sex, then perhaps I could have carried on doing it. But that isn't healthy, is it? I could see that. I remember an ex struggling to comprehend my whoring. I went out with him for years in my mid-20s, between two stints of sex work. He asked me if I'd ever had an orgasm with a client. I said I had, and the second it was out of my mouth I realised that it was not the answer he wanted to hear, but it couldn't be taken back. At the time I didn't understand why he would prefer me not to feel pleasure. Why would someone I loved, and who supposedly loved me, want me to be a victim? But people like to put others in boxes. Especially sex workers. We are either Jezebels and corrupters of men, or we are victims. Anything more nuanced is too complicated for people to understand. Adam gets it and he gets me. He knows me. Meeting me at work comes with a huge advantage, as he doesn't have to imagine anything. He knows what I was like when I was extracting cash from him, dressed in stockings, and telling him that he would have much more fun if he stayed for two hours. And he has also experienced me premenstrual, in joggers, bitching at him to empty the cat litter. When I first saw Adam, he was standing near the brothel door wearing a long coat. He was wide eyed and looked nervous, like he was ready to bolt. I looked at him, not to gauge how good looking he was. I looked at him to see if he had the potential to contribute towards my rent that week. 'In or out? In or out?' Max [the pseudonymous brothel boss] roared at him, almost scaring him off completely. So I quickly took over and passed him a beer. And just like that the verdict was 'in'. We went to a room and talked. I had a strong sense that he was a good guy. I have no recollection of what else happened that night, of the details. What I remember is his manner and the fact that he was really, really funny. I was pleased when he came back to see me the next week. And the one after. Soon we arrived at the point where he would wait while I was with another client and then we would go off together. I became fond of him. I really enjoyed shagging him and talking to him, and he was beginning to enter my thoughts when I wasn't working. That hadn't happened before. I took his number just in case the place got raided again. Besides, I was so close to leaving the brothel and working independently and I could see that he was someone who was going to stick around; that there was a place for him in my future. I was saving all the time and, having had my first taste of domming, I was looking for a perfect place to install a dungeon. I had it all mapped out. One night I walked up the stairs from the bathroom to the communal space and there he was again. He was more drunk than normal and, when he saw me, he got on his knees in front of the amused Romanian working girls and told me he wanted to marry me. I laughed it off and said: 'Absolutely – I can't wait.' Then, as ever, we went downstairs to a room. Seven years later, Adam proposed for real. Perhaps it was easier for Adam because by the time we were officially together, I was just domming and no longer shagging. But, still, it takes a strong man to see his partner getting dressed up for someone else. I adore him and he adores me, and I like the fact we met in a brothel. It's far more interesting than if we had met on fucking Tinder. How Was It For You?: The Lives and Loves of a Sex Worker by Eve Smith is published in paperback (£10.99) by Picador