For a long time I knew that there was some fundamental lack of clash in the debate. An ideological space where the competing ideas could not be resolved because they are operating on different planes. Many radical and second wave feminists take a strong social constructionist view of gender and violence against women. Many sex positive feminists see this as lacking in nuance and denying the autonomy of individual women. But, that distinction has been on the table for a long time.

Today I started thinking about another one when I was reading this post of Caroline’s. She links to a blog where a very brave woman discusses her incredibly damaging and negative experiences in the sex industry. That woman believes that she is dismissed by sex positive feminists as being a “sad case” – that her experience is the exception and does not invalidate sex work. On the flip-side, many former sex workers that had positive experiences feel their voices are drowned out and silenced by radical feminists who claim they are apologists for the patriarchy.

The problem is that these arguments still aren’t truly clashing with each other. Two claims are being debated as if they are a single one even though they are neither directly related nor mutually exclusive.

Claim #1: Sex work is wrong.

Claim #2: There is something wrong within sex work.

The “within” is very important in that second claim. It distinguishes the idea that sex work is on face something to be rejected from the claim that there are problems in sex work that need to be remedied. I don’t know a single sex worker that would not concede the second claim. Of course there are individuals, perhaps even the majority of individuals, who are severely adversely affected by sex work. But, one claim does not automatically support the other because Claim #2 is a quantitative claim that describes a current problem whereas Claim #1 is qualitative and makes a value judgment. The material conditions of sex work can change and Claim #2 would be eroded but for those that support Claim #1, no change would be sufficient. By definition sex work is wrong and no number of pleasant personal experiences could change that.

So, yes, I desperately abhor the abuse and mistreatment of sex workers. I loath the deeply disturbing and violent treatment that sex workers face. As a separate issue I am, of course, concerned about the trafficking of human beings or the exploitation and rape of children that cannot consent to entering the sex trade. I can see all of these things and I can still say that sex work should exist and can be healthy. I can believe that it will never disappear and so it must be prepared, not just to make the best of a bad situation but to create joy out of a vocation that should be honored instead of denigrated. I honor the voices of women that have experienced pain or violence in sex work and I don’t think that they are tokens. But, I think that their experiences provide a backdrop for an important change and (r)evolution, not for a dismantling of an eternal system.

(Also, go read the 11th Feminist Carnival of Sexual Freedom and Autonomy)

This drawing is the artist’s depiction of Jay and I having some fun on the phone with one of my lucky clients. Oh, and it goes with the article I just had published by The Naughty American. Go read it! The comments there so far include some confused English language learners and someone calling me a pretentious attention whore. So this is what it is like when I leave the confines of my safe little blog ;)

It is official. The connection I find between knowledge/schooling and sex moves beyond the theoretical and beyond the fact that I want to fuck my professors.

My notes scribbled inside The History of Sexuality Volume 1 could be for a future paper and they could be for this blog and I’m not sure which venue is appropriate anymore. I’m not sure that my identity as a potential scholar is at all divorced from my identity here. Each day that identity gets more fluid. I tell one more person that I am a phone slut for hire or that I am polyamorous or that I am kinky or that I own sex toys or any number of other details that are starting to feel mundane.

This evening I went to a Foucault reading group. It was 6 graduate students plus Jack, a professor in my department. I refer to him now by the name I gave him in a piece of fiction I wrote 3 years ago (and by “fiction” I mean “daydream committed to blog“). That piece was written near the beginning of my graduate studies (and at the beginning of this blog) but I have known Jack since I was an undergraduate. I don’t kid myself that I have come full circle in some way, but over 3 years of documenting my feelings and thoughts about sex must mean something.

The nature of blogging is that it busts up our ideas about narrative, there often isn’t a clear story or arc of reasoning. Especially in the world of personal blogs, the evolution of emotions and ideas is what carries the real narrative quality. With each post I write I know that it will reach the readers that have read every word I have ever published here (a *very* small group) as well as those that stumble upon it in isolation of what comes before and what comes after. They may see it 5 minutes after I write or 5 years but it stands on its own in a way that it absolutely cannot. That is my cross to bear of course, but sometimes it makes the writing unbearable and impossible. An impenetrable wall of hyperlinks, exposition, caveats, and insecurity. But I still write.

This isn’t an essay about what compels me but this is rather a story about how I am longing to set myself free from this anonymity. It sounds like a contradiction, right? Anonymity is supposed to bestow my freedom on me, allow me to say and be the things that I never could be in the rest of the world. But what if I want to be those things out in the open, proudly, and productively. What then of my ubiquitous “head shot” that features my arm flung over my face? Where my body is capsized, the emphasis of my being not on my eyes but on my mouth and my tits. Am I just a mouth and tits? I have a voice and I have a sexuality (or at least desireable curves) but I can’t be seen and perhaps I can’t see out. Perhaps you didn’t come here for a deconstructive analysis of my own dirty photos. Perhaps you are the reader I cited above and (if you are even still reading) you are thinking “what is this chick on? what can I get off to? isn’t this supposed to be a sex blog?”

I know that risk. I know that being a sex worker I have this privilege of being myself that I can only exercise to a certain degree. I do have to be always on, always willing to serve, I do have to present an image of myself that is both real and hyper-real at the same time. Am I horny? Generally, yes. This moment, of course. With you, absolutely. That is my mantra and it reflects who I am to a degree. It also determines me. Is it a fabrication if I have *become* what I strove to represent myself as?

So I was talking about Jack and the Foucault group. I sat with a group of my peers today and I talked about Foucault. Simple enough, something that graduate students do. But it felt like I had so much more at stake. Every fiber of my being was screaming to really dig into the implications of these ideas. What about sex workers? What about BDSM? What about bisexuality? What about a million other predilections/perversions that are all around us but I may not be personally invested in?

But we talked about power. And there is nothing wrong with that, it is the guiding idea in Foucault’s work and it is crucial to understanding what he says about sexuality and sexual identity/orientation. But I craved something else, an honesty that would shock and impress and be productive. I wanted to share knowledge, an ars erotica, with my peers but instead I operated in my usual capacity. I listened to Jack, I nodded my head, and occasionally I re-phrased what he said in order to make sure I understood it. He agreed and all was well but my insides were screaming and my mind was racing with ideas and questions that were both on the tip of my tongue and impossible to articulate.

So, I’m left in this chasm between my academic authority and the authenticity of my experience. Neither is represented here or there and I feel incomplete.

I know this post went in a million different directions and there are more still streaming around in my mind. What would Foucault say about this? Why do I even care what Foucault would say about this? Really, it is an absurd and laughable question but I still find myself clinging to it.

Oh, and happy fucking Half-Naked Thursday, here is a picture of my ass splattered with come. It was taken with Jay’s camera phone after he fucked me during a call with a client. Posting this feels so mundane.

Other than both being delicious, what do sex and pizza have in common? Well, I was reading Figleaf’s post, “The ‘If Barbie is so popular why do you have to buy her friends?’ Problem” and I ended up writing a comment that busted the boundaries of the comment box alone.

I just recorded a podcast about this very question (#16.5 if you want to listen). It is a common belief that my clients have and it leads to a lot of shame. But, I will say here what I have said to them a hundred times. There is nothing wrong with you, at all.

Yes, we think of sex as something that someone should be able to have for free but there are a variety of reasons that men patronize sex workers. Perhaps they are bored with the sex they have in other relationships, perhaps they have a very particular fantasy that they want to fulfill, perhaps they get a thrill from paying for sex, maybe they just really want a woman and she happens to be a sex worker.

In the end, I am not in any place to judge why my client is on the other end of the line or what they want until they tell me. I can’t assume any sort of flaws with them as many of them have none – they just like the simplicity of my services and enjoy exploring with me.

What if we weren’t talking about sex but were talking about food. Something that people actually need to survive but are perfectly capable of making on their own. Perhaps I really want to eat pizza but I don’t have an oven or don’t know how to make pizza. Could I get on the phone/internet/etc and FIND someone to make me a pizza for free? Perhaps, but it might constitute a lot of trouble. It might not be as good as the pizza from the pizzaria. It might take a long time to get and I would be very hungry. Am I admitting that I am a pathetic and disgusting person if I have to BUY my pizza instead of someone just giving it to me?

Most people would see this example as ridiculous but they aren’t as quick to say that sex work is the same. I think there is a lot of similarity. Men explore places and things with professionals that they think the can’t get anywhere else or that they don’t want to go to the trouble of getting.

But, you will say this is objectifying, how can you compare yourself to a pizza that can be ordered up and delivered to anyone with a credit card? Here is the important thing to keep in mind. The sex worker isn’t the pizza, he or she is the chef.

A sex worker isn’t “selling herself” or “selling her body” any more than any other human being on the face of the planet is selling themselves for their time or labor. It is an old point but one that needs to be made. I am not the object or the good, I am the artisan or producer.

[Bedroom Radio #16.5 is largely a discussion of this and related topics - if you haven't listened yet, I would love if you did. And if you called me with your ideas and feedback.]

I was so happy to see this article from Violet Blue that has an in depth discussion of the clients that keep sex workers, well, working.

Another excellent resource on this topic is the great Letters from Johns blog that is run by the amazing Susannah Breslin. The blog is a brilliant concept exercised with simplicity and grace. I just wish there were more letters. They range from clueless to compassionate and everything in-between.

Honestly, I gave up on writing this entry a few minutes into it and recorded a podcast instead. Please download it – it is my thoughts on sex work and clients and the interactions between them. It is based on limited experience. I am sure I said some things that will offend people. I didn’t mean to but I want to start a discourse on sex work that includes the voices of clients as clients.

My email address is lumpesse AT gmail DOT com and the number to call with your ideas is 206-339-5939 (To be 100% clear, this is not my phone sex line – it is just a voicemail box, it won’t cost you anything beyond long distance and your time and I won’t answer the phone).

I really want to collect audio so you can leave it as a voicemail or email it to me. Or upload it on your own blog or talk about it on your own podcast. I do plan to make another show (or more! many?) out of the comments that I get so if you don’t want your comment included, please state that very clearly in your message to me. Please pass on the word about this to anyone you can think of that might be interested.

Download Bedroom Radio 16.5: An Open Call to Clients of Sex Workers