Censored

 It’s sadly not an unfamiliar feeling, seeing a large avenue of my business close, consequently wondering if I’ll wake up tomorrow without an income.

A week ago, my Twitter account was suspended, it would seem that I showed a little too much butt in one of my profile pictures. It’s my second suspension, after last time I showed too much cleavage apparently, and the likelihood of retrieving my account through appeal I’m told, is minimal. It’s only social media, some people might think, but over the years it has been pretty integral to growing my business. To reach the people, you have to be where they are - and that’s Instagram and Twitter. Having a website is great and all, but it really only works as a landing page for me when people discover me elsewhere - a solo sex worker simply doesn’t generate the SEO or traffic required for traction on it’s own. So after 5-6 years of relentless posting, fighting ’shadowbans’ and increased censorship, I creeped my way to 30k followers, only to lose it overnight. I definitely cried.

One of the things I’ve always loved about Twitter is how conversation based it is. I have never been particularly good at Instagram, where it’s incredibly image heavy, a lot of smoke and mirrors, plus the censorship is next level. Instagram closes sex worker accounts every day - I’ve never invested fully in it because I knew they’d take my account at any moment. Twitter has always been less censored, much more conversational and word based - so I guess I took it for granted that I was safe there, but now they’re cracking down on flesh in header images. I was tastefully in underwear - graphic nudity has never been my gig - you can pay for that on my Onlyfans where I might actually benefit from it haha, but even implied sensuality is now against Twitter’s rules. 

I’m of the general opinion that women’s bodies are becoming more and more policed online. I received this vague message regarding my suspension - “We consider adult content to be any media that is pornographic and/or may be intended to cause sexual arousal.” ‘May be intended to cause sexual arousal’ - have they met people? That could be literally anything - feet, hair, armpits even! But I bet the same doesn’t apply to a male torso - are men’s bodies not sexual too? God knows how many accounts I see on Twitter that are primarily just their cock and balls, can’t the algorithm remove them first? So it’s safe to say that the internet is getting harder every day to navigate as a sex worker. At the moment the general public is experiencing increased censorship as Facebook cracks down on certain words and discussions. We warned everyone - what starts with us, finishes with you - censorship and erasure is trialled on sex workers before escalation - we all saw it coming. Society is regressing - just watch this Internet Safety bill that is being pushed through (rather undemocratically) in Australia right now - it’s a very real possibility that we are being thrown back to the dark ages regarding freedom of information, women’s rights and sexuality.

I have been here before, losing countless hours/days/years of work, when I lost my website, domain and email when SESTA/FOSTA was passed in the US, and the loss of Backpage at the same time. That hurt. I thought then that my business was done, but I remembered then that I had started over this business before - I’d retired then unretired, I had shifted countries - and I adapted. So after SESTA/FOSTA I put my head down and my bum up and business was ok, I just had to work harder for a while. And I guess that’s what I’ll do this time too. Obviously it’s heartbreaking to watch years of work and thousands of images and decent engaging content disappear, but I guess I’m already used to starting again, so I’ll embrace the opportunity for a fresh start - there has to be a silver lining in there somewhere. 

I’m a solutions kind of girl, so I have now taken over use of my cat’s twitter page, poor guy, and am starting again there. Many of my clients were already there following the antics of my cat, bless them, so I didn’t go completely dark on the platform. Please, follow @FoxandtheFeline to follow my journey out of censorship, and sign up to my newsletter from my Petra website so I can reach you all regardless. 

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Loud Mouth Wh*res

 I would like to acknowledge the First Nations people as the original inhabitants or as the Traditional Owners of the land where I live and work - Meeanjin, Brisbane. I recognise the country north and south of the Brisbane River, as the home of both the Turrbul and Jagera nations. I pay deep respects to all Elders past and present and future.

“Why do these loud-mouth wh*res need to paint their opinions everywhere? No one cares, why don’t they just shut up and do their jobs, sucking dick and looking pretty or whatever it is they do”.

Hello, it’s ‘Australia Day’, the 26th of January for audiences outside of Australia. From an outside perspective, as mine was up until I moved here a few-ish years ago, the concept of a public holiday to celebrate a nation doesn’t sound so bad. But today, if you’re online, you will see a lot of controversy around the day, and that a significant portion of Australians are campaigning to change or abolish the date. Now, I’m an import here and like many white people living on this land, I am still learning and being re-educated on what it means to live here and so I am not going to speak on the subject as if I’m anything more than a simple student. At a basic level, the date signifies the raising of the British flag upon the arrival of the First Fleet of convicts in 1788, symbolising the beginning of the colonisation/theft of Australia by the British, declaring the land Terra Nullius (nobody’s land) and effectively erasing the humanity of the existing peoples. Consequently Australia Day is commonly referred to as Invasion Day, and a lot of sex workers are publicly talking about it.

“First Nations people suffered massacres, land theft, stolen children and widespread oppression at the hands of the colonising forces. For First Nations people, 26 January is a day of mourning the history that followed the steps of Captain Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet.” - https://www.commonground.org.au/learn/australia-day

Australia Day is a contentious issue for Australians, with most people having an opinion about it, whether it be to change or abolish the date, a day of mourning or to reflect, or a good excuse for a piss-up at their mate’s place listening to Jimmy Barnes and burning an assortment of meat on the barbie. 

Now, you can probably tell already that I have an opinion on the subject. In fact, I have a lot of opinions. I am a real person who lives in the world - I read the news, I generally read beyond the headlines, I like to research things from different perspectives and I like to think I’m reasonably, but definitely not wholly, informed on social issues and general news. I have a brain, I did well in my studies, I like to think I’m a critical thinker and importantly (I say importantly because it’s relevant to the job) I’m an empathetic person with a deep interest and care for people. So the fact I have opinions on an issue as fundamentally important to the whole nation I live in, and one so divisive, should really come as no surprise to anyone really. I like to imagine I present my opinions as a citizen of the world and not an expert on anything, but regardless I am passionate and I speak my mind, as I was raised to do by my for-the-time-feminist family. 

And yet, I am also a sex worker. Outside viewers and a select gaggle of clients see it as a bizarre juxtaposition that someone who sells companionship should speak their leftie mind in view of browsing consumers online, as surely that would alienate my client base, and shouldn’t I just sit here looking pretty, giggling at their thinly veiled racist jokes. 

But those who have this view would be forgetting some quite important things. Firstly and significantly, sex workers are often the ‘hot topic’ of discussion - our very existence is political. As a marginalised group for whom many people would rather not be doing the bidding, we are in our very being, intrinsically political. We have to be loud, effective campaigners for ourselves so people in power, our representatives and society itself will listen to us, acknowledge us or to allow us our basic human rights. We are political before we even begin to address subjects outside of just ourselves. So for us to work, for us to gain or access services that other people take for granted, we are often already very strong minded, outspoken individuals. And this beyond the sex worker rights movement etcetera, advantages us anyway, as we navigate a largely hidden industry plagued with customers that might seek to disempower, silence, or further marginalise us. We must be strong to negotiate our lives alongside them too. We are living and breathing clickbait. We are the topic that everyone has an opinion on but very little actual knowledge. So if you think a group of people can have and speak opinions, you know, you’re talking about a group of people that have really had to speak out for themselves and educate people, and if you think they won’t think twice about using that well honed voice for other causes that are important and often personal, well, you’re kidding yourself. This is the reality of sex workers as a group - we have a lot to say because we have to. No one else decent is going to do that for us. 

Beyond that, it’s also important to remember that it’s not true, or at least it isn’t now, that all of our clients are right-leaning Boomers who spend every weekend at the golf course talking about grabbing women by the pussy. It simply isn’t true. It is possible, increasingly so - thank goodness because this is me… to have a demographic of clients that are left-leaning and feminist. And female. While yes it’s true, the client base of white upper and middle class management cisgendered males is still quite significant, the truth of it is, they just don’t hold the same buying power in the industry that they used to. You can be as left as you like and speak your mind, so long as you know your demographic. I say all this with full acknowledgement of my white privilege, and the privilege of no longer being a survival worker, but the industry is changing. I have been a sex worker for a decade and when I first started I had no concept that one day my client base would one day be mostly women, couples and left leaning feminist engineers. But as the world, and as general industry changes and grows up, so will ours. And being an opinionated woman in 2021 can not only be acceptable, but an effective marketing strategy. When naysayers question that I speak my mind, when they want me to be quiet, it simply doesn’t bother me because they were probably never going to book someone like me to begin with, and there’s other clients out there who will. Having an opinion tells clients that you possess intellect, and the modern client really is looking for much more than someone with a pretty face and nice tits saying ‘Yessir’.

Which brings me to the next point. I speak my mind openly, sure, but I don’t expect all clients to agree with me. And equally, not all clients looking for company want someone who perfectly echoes their views on the world. Sometimes, it’s really quite enough for clients to see that you can string a sentence together. It’s also genuinely intriguing to meet people who are different sometimes. That’s how we learn and grow. While sometimes I find it a bit offensive how impressed clients can be that you can easily use a word with three syllables in a sentence, it does work to our advantage. A lot of clients these days want someone they can tolerate the company of outside of copulating and a few minutes of small talk, and someone who puts their views out there is openly inviting clients who enjoy discussion. This isn’t to say someone quite right-leaning is a good match for a loud leftie, but two people who care enough about the world to have opinions often make a good match. I have met many a person with different views to me who have adored me over the years and we’ve enjoyed amazing times together out of being passionate people, and hell, I’ve even managed to sway more than one conservative fella to my point of view. Indoctrination by blowjob, if you will.

Most importantly, sex workers just have opinions because they’re people. Like any other person living in this crazy modern world, social media is an outlet. But going beyond that, sex workers do accrue quite a following, and it isn’t just the occasional tit pic and upskirt that grabs people’s attention (though, it helps) - it’s also our unique view of the world. As people who get to know your bosses, your tradesmen, your wives, your parents, your politicians and your celebrity crushes on an intimate level… well people care what we have to say. Our world view from living somewhat in the shadows but also deeply ingrained in larger society can’t be claimed by many other industries. And isn’t it important, as a paying client, not just that we can think critically, not just that we can fuck and harbour discussion with people we may never have otherwise met, but also that we show a deep sense of compassion? Big issues, ‘Australia Day’ being just today’s example, usually centre around people and human rights. Sex workers trade off the fact they’re non judgemental companions for all kinds of people. Surely as someone who is browsing the internet for someone you can get intimate with, you would want someone who possesses traits such as empathy, compassion and humanity. Sex workers not only are comprised of a vast range of people, often in marginalised groups such as the LGBTQI+ community, the First Nations community, People of Colour, immigrants, and people with disability, they also service people of these communities as well. The sex work community is diverse but equally also so are our clientele - and when we speak for important social issues, that is remembered by people for whom it matters most. Maybe Dean from marketing scoffs, shakes his head and books someone neutral for his one hour Friday evening rendezvous that he’s forgotten by Monday, but I guarantee many more will remember socially aware providers when they plan for a session they want to be unforgettable. 

Ultimately, sex workers will always speak their mind, and some are going to stay pretty pissed off about that - they’d find something to complain about even in our silence to be honest. But at the end of the day, do words spoken by people who don’t directly pay our bills matter? It could, if it got to us, if we read every comment and lost sight of why we are here and took it on board as personal criticism. But with the knowledge that people do listen, that our reach is vast, that there is money to be made still while being authentic to our beliefs, why would we stop? Curating followers, fans and clients who not only respect us and pay us, but allow us the space and platform to speak our mind about issues that are bigger than us, makes us more a part of the fabric of society, and the haters and naysayers only elevate our voices through hits and views and retweets.
So this is why I’ll never be quiet - because things that matter to society matter to me, which matters to many of you. If you expect the undergrowth of your society to stay quiet then it never flourishes, culture never blooms and there will just be a lot of really, really terrible sex. 

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Face-Out

  I work as a face-out sex worker and I have a significant online presence. This means my face has a lot of reach - there are literally tens of thousands of people in the world who have seen my face, many of whom will have seen it enough times to remember it, a fewer number will have actually taken the time to see me in person and absolutely will recognise me when I’m out in the world living my life, regardless of how done up or dressed down I might be. There’s a vulnerability that comes with this exposure. I’m aware of it, I was aware of it before I made the choice about 3 or so years ago to become ‘face-out’.

So why did I do it? I think there’s a few reasons why it just started to make sense. Firstly, I was quite tattooed. I could have these amazing pictures done and have to blur half my body and my face - it didn’t leave much for people to see and aesthetically it looked messy. I eventually decided to unblur my tattoos, which was a big shift in my privacy, so that people could at least see my figure properly - something quite important for business, and so people could make up their own minds about my ink and whether it appealed to them or not. Removing the mystery around them helped business - people could see my ink was quality and not hate symbols or anything ridiculous.

Leaving New Zealand gave me some breathing room regarding my discretion. Part of me wanting discretion in those days was firstly to prevent my family finding out, which became a non-concern after I outted myself anyway and that actually turned out to be pretty fine. They’re all back home in another country so the chances of it being a problem for them is slim. Secondly, my ex wanted me to keep a lid on things because it could affect his custody, which was fair enough - things get a lot trickier when children and exes are a concern. I know of a sex worker whose job affected her custody outcome and that was never far from my mind - sex work is considered predatory unfortunately by too many people even under decriminalisation. But these concerns are now years and years behind me - I’m only accountable to myself now and I don’t really let people into my life who aren’t fully aware of my lifestyle and honestly, after the heartbreak of losing contact with my step child, I won’t be inviting people into my personal life with ‘custody concerns’ again in any kind of hurry. I helped raised a kid, I’ve done that, I’m done. And then there’s travel issues - facial recognition technology can make travel difficult for sex workers, but most of the countries that it affects are countries I’m unbothered about visiting personally - the US for example (I’m writing this on election night and honestly any country that can elect a Trump to it’s helm in the first place holds no interest to me at all).

So moving to Australia as a self-employed unattached person left me with only a couple of other concerns around discretion - being recognised in public and creeped on, and limiting future career moves. But significantly, I also now had INCENTIVE to show my face. Australia is considerably more competitive in a business sense, and I was coming up against clients who seemed a lot less trusting. Moving to Australia from New Zealand as someone who had been (I’m trying not to sound arrogant but) a reputed, relatively successful escort was incredibly humbling. I went from being a big fish in a small pond to being a small fish in a massive pond - I was really struggling to find my place and compete against escorts who really could hold their own in other industries whether it be it marketing, business, creative direction, fashion… and then there’s me, the person who thought intuition and being good at blowjobs was enough to be successful in this industry. Sex work in New Zealand was much more working class, and a monopoly system of advertising made it relatively simple to stand out because it always felt like we were all on a level playing field, people even pretty much all charged the same and very few showed their face. Here, that wasn’t the situation at all. In this sink or swim situation that I’d put myself in, moving here with nothing and no-one to ask for advice, I was doing a fairly inelegant frantic doggy paddle to stay afloat.

With all this happening in the background, and me already stepping up my game to work on other aspects of my business, it turned out that the final decision to show my face happened actually fairly impulsively, after a couple of wines on a night where a client had stood me up. I’d been feeling a bit flat about business, and I’d been spending all this time on social media looking at my beautiful peers showing their faces, knowing that’s what I was up against. At that time I had huge double mirrors on my wardrobe in the bedroom, and I thought I looked great. The lighting was good, I felt sexy and ready for this booking that didn’t eventuate. I snapped a selfie and looked at it, and wanted to post it - but my face was my best feature in this photo. You couldn’t see a hint of any of the bogan stereotypes people throw at me for being tattooed (and kiwi, the weird anti-kiwi sentiment people have here is probably enough for me to rant about in a whole other blog so I’ll save it). So, impulsively, a couple of wines in, I posted it to Twitter, face and all. And that was that.

I received a couple of concerned texts pretty quickly, alerting me to the fact I had ‘forgotten’ to blur my face, as if I’m not a capable intelligent adult capable of doing deliberate things. But other than that, the sky didn’t fall down. People didn’t suddenly start running up to me in the street, and there was no awkward texts from my parents letting me know their neighbour/friend/distant cousin had found out I was a hooker overnight. My life just didn’t change that much. But business did.

I think being a face-out sex worker, as an alternative worker in Australia helped my business immensely. It countered any stereotypes or fears people wrongly have about being tattooed or being a hooker over the age of 25. People now trusted me, I was suddenly a very real person to them. And for someone trying to create a new life in a new country I think that was incredibly important for me, to prioritise business so I could financially prop myself up a bit after my divorce. I also don’t have potential career concerns, as someone who will ALWAYS be self employed, regardless of industry (though my intention is to stay around sex and relationships), my face isn’t ghoulish, I’m out already to the most important people and to date, I haven’t had too many issues with aggressive fanboys in the street. To date.

This gets me back to my point about how being face-out creates vulnerability. By becoming face out, I shifted the onus of my privacy away from myself, and onto others. I rely on people to essentially be good people - and in today’s world that’s a pretty big ask. I do believe that just because a sex worker makes the choice to be face out, or be in any other way immediately recognisable, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be able to expect a reasonable degree of privacy. 

We are not celebrities. Even if you are a follower, or a ‘fan’, we are not exactly film stars or public figures. We didn’t arrive in this industry looking for fame, we arrived here to have private dalliances in exchange for money. We work in a stigmatised, sometimes not even legal industry, and our whole job is built around a need for discretion - in fact you depend on it as clients. Our work is still underground and hush hush - a secret undercurrent below mainstream society. This is still true even if you’ve come to know us in a public space. It’s just an unfortunate side effect of the digital age, that there is pressure to be present, accessible and visible to potential customers, even if you’re in an industry where being visible is counter to the premise of the job. Social media is an integral part of my marketing, and it’s the part of marketing that I excel at. Quite simply, I sink without it. Curiosity around our industry and just a general attraction to our bodies and lifestyles means we can and do grow quite large followings and our reach can actually spread quite far, meaning we can be well known by our peers on the other side of the globe, their clients, but also ‘haters’, anti sex work activists, and nosey people in general. But it’s the business now, and sadly we have to rely on people to not be absolute shitheads to still be able to live a relatively normal life.

So if you approach an escort in public, even with what you feel is good intentions, you will make them deeply uncomfortable, and these messages I often receive that say they’ve seen me around, are creepy. Nobody, particularly women who work in a stigmatised industry and who are vulnerable to violence and stalking, wants to be informed that they’re being watched. I’m under no illusions that people will see me around - I’m fairly recognisable, but I don’t need to know you’ve been watching me - I can’t even fathom what that would achieve to let me know that. I don’t care for your opinion about how I looked at the time, it’s never going to be a compliment, it’s only ever going to create discomfort. I’m often out with my partners or friends and that time, is MY time, and not yours to intrude upon. It’s important to remember that in spite of our sexy online presence and our marketing, in reality we are all just normal people - going out to eat, shopping for vegetables, going on dates, going to the gym - and snapping us back into work mode, the work we are trying to keep hidden from the restauranteur, the personal trainer, the grocery assistant - is actually pretty unkind and indiscreet. In the same way I would never approach a client, because it’s my job to keep our secret - it’s also the job of clients and people who supposedly claim to support our work, to leave us alone. If I contacted a client with ‘I saw you out with your wife’, it would come across as threatening, and the same is true when someone does this to me. I wish we could abandon somehow the ‘fandom’ element of sex work, to abandon pedestals and awe, and go back to the days where naughty secrets, mysteries and discreet knowing nods were enjoyed rather than destroyed. 

Maybe you’re here because you enjoyed my writing, maybe you’re here because you like my face (or perhaps maybe in spite of it), or my tits or my sass. Maybe you’re here out of curiosity, an intention to book or an intention to learn - but while you’re here let me ask you to fall in love again with mystery and secrets - things that our society is slowly chipping away at. If you see an escort around, if you see me around, know that I showed you my face as a marketing tool and not an invitation into my identity. Your heart might skip a little with the excitement of seeing someone out in the world that you recognise, but contain yourselves, you aren’t witnessing a persona, a Petra, a brand, but a stranger in the wild just like you.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

The Sleazes

 I should have known it was going to be a terrible idea to come on this cruise alone.

It’s my Dad’s birthday and everyone decided a cruise was the best idea due to it’s accessibility and the fact they were throwing cruise packages away like they were Christmas hams in a raffle. I’m the only one in the whole extended family here that’s not coupled up. The one and only distinct advantage being that I had a cabin all to myself, but it’s become a boring daily routine to wonder where everyone is and to ‘accidentally’ be left off land excursion activity lists because someone decided they want some romantic time without a third wheel (me). I should’ve hunted Tinder for some poor fool to bring with me just for something/someone to do. 

Another day, 3pm, and I’m at the bar entertaining myself. It’s become routine now - everyone is in their rooms fucking or napping or arguing or whatever it is that couples do these days. At this point in time, I’ve largely forgotten. A sun-pink gentleman in a short sleeved button up shirt shuffles over to me, he’s misread the vacant look on my face as vacancy, and encroaches my space, filling it with the smell of Jack n Coke and horny desperation. I’m far too good looking to be drinking alone, he informs me, without me asking. Perhaps I’d like some company, his wife is far too busy gas-bagging with her mate to care what he’s up to, he snarls. A ‘no thank you’ is laughed off, and he asks the bemused bartender to fetch me another of what I’m having. Ok, I preferred my newly-divorced day-drunk pit of despair to this, but thanks.

I look over his shoulder, to work out which his wife was, which he notices. I ask, are you trying to pick up for the both of you? Nah, he says, she’s not interested in sex anymore! Huh! Don’t ever get married! He says to me, the recently divorced singleton on a cheap cruise with her parents… He nods towards the brunette, and it’s immediately obvious to me that she’s far too hot for him. Shame, I say. He shuffles a little closer, too close, and leers at me. Take a hike, I say meaningfully - the sleaze dripped from him like lard from a pork chop. Fucking snob, who do ya think y’are! And he waves at the bartender as if to cancel his generous order. Away he trots, and I wink at the bartender who puts down my Prosecco and promises to charge it to his room. Good lad.

But I’m still noticing Sleaze’s wife. She’s older, sure. Maybe mid - late 40s. And her hair is a little too curly to be entirely natural and her leopard print sarong suits her far too well for her to be wearing it ironically. She looks at home on this cruise, with it’s loud carpet and gaudy chandeliers that cast unfathomably poor light. But she has these cheek bones, not highlighted or contoured with makeup, just elegantly carving her face. Her hair is thick with a hint of auburn, flowing down her back, mostly covering a fading butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. She’s striking really, I forgive her shouty outfit and wrong hue of lipstick when I watch her face dance as she loses herself in animated conversation with her friend. Looks nice to have company. Her friend leaves and I see Sleaze’s wife quickly glance around the bar for her missing husband, sinking relaxed into the couch when she notices him gone. Should I?

I take my Prosecco and approach the couch, can I join? Sure! She has a friendly inviting smile, a certain kind of purity to it. I wonder, am I this bitch? Sure, today I am. Your husband was just hitting on me at the bar, are you swingers? (Knowing of course that they aren’t). Shocked, she rebuts a little too quickly, definitely not! Her husband is just trouble you know, but he’s all talk. Her shock isn’t hurt, I think she’s more taken aback by my candidness. It’s a shame I say, because truly, you’re beautiful. There’s a blush, and she doesn’t know what to say. I ask more questions, have they tried swinging before? Did they know swinging happened a lot on cruises? Is she bicurious?

Look, I’m a bottle in and I’m not really proud of my behaviour, but she isn’t shying away from me. She tells me that her husband has strayed, or at least tried to, but you know, that’s just how he is. They have a nice life together and maybe it’s easier this way. I tell her she doesn’t need to tolerate his poor behaviour, she’s beautiful, she can have anyone. She laughs amusingly, that her husband thought he could have a shot with a beautiful young woman like me. So, I say, you think I’m beautiful?

Next thing you know I’m leading her by the hand out of the bar. I notice the bartender watching us, he’s going to have questions for me tomorrow. We pass Mr Sleaze in the hall near the exit to the pool, and his jaw drops. No words come out. I catch a glimpse of her face, giving a cheeky shrug to him but she never lets go of my hand. She’s almost skipping. I unlock my room, thank god I have a room to myself, and I give her a flirty push inside and shut the door.

I don’t know if I’d be as attracted to her in another situation. I wanted to have what he had, I wanted him to know. Am I proud of this? I don’t know, I know that in this moment I don’t care. I unwrap her sarong with haste and take my time tracing my fingers along her collarbone and the side of her striking face, while I try to figure out the inner workings of her over-complicated hot pink swimsuit. I’ve never been with a woman before, she says, and I assure her that that’s about to change. Her swimsuit now sits bunched on her hips, baring her exquisite chest, nipples like icicles and the unmistakable tiger stripes of motherhood on her belly. She’s a deer in headlights as I pull my dress unceremoniously over my head, quickly snap off my bikini and push her onto the bed. She’s much, much too hot for Mr Pork Chop.

..

For a second time, she quivers, cumming and pushing my head further into her untrimmed pussy, howling like an injured animal. There’s just no way my cabin neighbours don’t hear. I can’t tell if it annoys me or strokes my ego, or both. I’m drunk and uncertain if I’m horny or if I’ve just been craving a good time. This is certainly the kind of good time I wasn’t inclined to have with the lad behind the bar or any of the sleazes I met while nursing my lonely bubbles. Mrs Sleaze has discovered female breasts today and won’t leave mine alone, it’s cute really. When I tire of it I flip her over, fuck her with my fingers the way she likes it, and lick her chlorine tasting ass. She moans and writhes, and I hold her in place with my other arm so she doesn’t injure me with all that bucking about. I feel powerful in this moment, exposing her to the pleasures of women, pleasuring her in ways her husband doesn’t, and enjoying a little revenge. I love making her cum, we go at it for a couple of hours. She tries really hard to make me cum, but either the mojitos I watched her down or just inexperience make her a little clumsy. And that’s okay, I enjoy pulling her up by the hair to sit her on my face again, looking up to see those icicle nipples shiver and shake as her world shifts on it’s axis, possibly forever.

Knocks never come, though I expected them. He knows where we are, he watched us skip down the hall and disappear through my door, but he never comes. His wife does though, many times. Hah. Eventually we lie there, tongue-tied and spent and there’s nothing for us to say but goodbye. I kiss her open-mouthed as I open the door, to her husband sat on the floor against the wall, red-eyed, to greet her. Not my problem I think, and I shut the door before a word is said. That was an excellent way to pass the afternoon I think, turn on the TV and drift into a short doze before I go to meet the family for another buffet dinner.

..

It’s 3pm again, my favourite family members are romantically swimming with turtles while I order another Prosecco from the bartender, fast becoming my closest friend in this gaudy outdated ship that smells of stale Chanel No 5 and yesterday’s vomit. I look across the bar and spot the Sleazes, canoodling on the couch. Maybe I am an asshole, a drunk depressed asshole, but I think I might have unintentionally saved their marriage. Pity about my own I think, and gesture to the bartender - another bottle please. They catch my gaze and raise their glasses to me, so I raise my nearly empty bubbles in their direction and nod. Good for them. Charge this to their room, I say, I earned it.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Do you love your job?

 We lie there in the afterglow of the fuckfest that just ensued, and we start to talk about other things.

It’s often my favourite part of a booking, our guards are down and the conversation usually evolves past the niceties and the ‘what are you doing at the weekend’s. We talk a little about my blog, she knows writing, and she appreciates my blog and confesses it is part of why she booked me. It’s nice to receive the feedback, a little market research if you will. So I know she’s coming from a good place when she suddenly asks me, ‘so do you love your job?’.

It strikes me as an interesting way to phrase the question. Few people want to know if I love my job, the question is usually centred around if I like my clients or if I ever have bad experiences - questions that make me squirm (I’ll never understand why people ask me to relive potential trauma for their amusement). We are lying in the sweaty remnants of a threesome that was fun and a perfect ménage à trois by any standard. In this moment I’m thinking, ‘fuck yeah I love my job’. I can feel the question has come from a place of care and curiosity, so I take a moment to really think about it.

Do I love my job? I think it’s a layered and complex question, more so than they realise. I’d love to just answer yes, and it be true without any ‘but’s. Moments like this? Hell, I think I have the best damn job in the world. Very few, if any jobs on the planet can offer the kind of highs I get with clients. Sure, there’s the obvious fun bits - orgasms, nudity and the physical type things that most (usually male) clients think are the most important. That’s really just the surface layer of things I love about the work. But it’s rewarding professionally in ways outside of sexual pleasure. If you’re a person who enjoys work in personal service - say nursing, caregiving, childcare, you’ll understand the kind of job satisfaction that I also feel when it comes to looking after people and taking care of their needs. They might be very different needs, but all the same, the nurturing aspect to it is there and there is very real job satisfaction in taking care of clients. A happy client makes me happy, and that’s part of why I always strive to be good at my job, it’s not so much about reputation and return business, though those things are important, it’s just that it feels good to make people feel good. That job satisfaction is highly rewarding.

But it’s more than that too. And this doesn’t apply to every booking - hobbyists who book frequently, as often as some of us order Uber Eats - this doesn’t really apply to them (and that’s fine, they’re fine clients and we all usually see quite a lot of them). It’s the clients for whom we know we are a little more than that, that really give us a sense of purpose. There’s a deep sense of ‘calling’ that happens for me when I see clients for whom our time together is special. Sometimes it’s a client who is very inexperienced in sex and wants a little guidance from someone more experienced or at least, kind enough to accept a little fumbling. Sometimes it’s a person who is exploring or affirming their sexuality. Sometimes it’s a person with a disability who hasn’t been touched in a long time. Sometimes it’s a couple indulging in their first fantasy. Sometimes it’s someone who is in a sexless marriage who feels unsexy and just wants to feel alive again. Sometimes it’s just that I’m someone’s first sex worker, or just anyone that craves and truly appreciates the intimate level of service I provide. 

These people make my job amazing. It’s knowing that I’m giving someone a little of something special. Nothing reaffirms my place in this industry more than receiving a message from someone telling me how much our time together meant to them. In times when maybe I’ve had some shitty clients, or just clients who probably forget me in a week because they shag half of Brisbane, these clients keep my fire burning. Making people deeply happy is the best feeling a person can have.

But even in those moments, it’s hard for me to outright say ‘yes, I love this job’. Because I think, it overlooks so much. I am quite afraid to let people know, hey, yeah I love this job, because I never want to gloss over some of the things we endure to exist. I don’t want people to think it’s all glamour and fucking and cash. Loving the work still has a cost. People always assume the cost is the risk of violence - which yes, obviously exists. Being a woman, I live with risk every day regardless of sex work or not. Domestic violence rates in this country are genuinely scary, and yet we don’t assume all of our friends are victims of violence, even if statistically they possibly could be. Sex work can come with risk, for the reason that we deal with men on a regular basis, not because the work is inherently violent. 

Some of the biggest prices we pay to be in this work are outside of the actual in-person parts of the job. For example, I can’t put this job on my CV. And that doesn’t sound like a big deal on the surface, but from every other career you can usually continue or further your career after 10 years in any job, except for this one. Coming back to the civilian world from sex work with a big hole in your CV is hard, when none of the skills you’ve acquired as a business person are easily accounted for or explained. You can apply for a minimum wage job and find you’re too old or overqualified or you can aim too high where they’ll screen you beyond where your lies can realistically take you. Even if you’ve studied, or had children, or travelled, that gaping hole will still limit your employability. Quite simply, putting your mouth on genitals for a business, even if legal, will not be accepted as relevant job experience and most likely will see you culled immediately, probably as the office joke for the day.

Beyond employment challenges, there’s the real world stigma of being a sex worker. From my own experiences, even under New Zealand decriminalisation, I had my bank accounts shut down after a lifetime of being a customer, because they deemed my job too ‘high risk’. All I’d wanted to do was shut down a joint bank account after my painful separation and ended up with a small office swarming with men leering at me, telling me basically that I was a hassle and they shut my accounts on the spot, when I had no other bank accounts anywhere else active. It’s almost like they didn’t want me to be legitimate in my business even though they claim that was their main concern. They didn’t decline a loan, I wasn’t asking for money, they just shut down my day-to-day banking because of my job. And legally, they could do that as businesses are allowed to make their own choices about the risk they deem customers to be, even if it’s discriminatory. Hotels and AirBNBs will also turf you out and even ban you for life for similar reasons. I lost a very close friend after her partner basically banned her from hanging out with me, I can’t get insurances, I have family members who won’t speak to me (they aren’t the ones I care about thankfully), I have to lie on rental applications, and every time I tell someone what I do, it’s a ‘coming out’, because there’s always a risk that I kill that friendship or that they have a big mouth and it kills other friendships or opportunities in my life. I’ve had significantly less blowback in my life talking about my polyamory and sexuality than I have being a sex worker. Feminist circles are divided, which means many people in otherwise progressive pockets of the world either hate me or rule me unable to speak for myself. The online world is a minefield of hate and misogyny, and that’s where I have to advertise and find clients. My daily life involves wearing blinkers, whether online where people spew hate about me or people like me, or out in the world where people sometimes creepily stare at me out of recognition.

So I guess, I have to love my job. Because if I didn’t have these moments, resting my head on these (really quite lovely) boobs, with a man half asleep on my thigh, I can’t say it’d be worth it. I don’t know if I could mentally endure the prices I pay if I didn’t have great clients, and these perfect little moments. The reward of the work, the feelings of service, the joy of nudity and free-spirited loving and all that glittery happy stuff really needs to be there. I hear all the time, clients and spectators and even naïve partners saying they’re jealous of my work, and it does get to me, even if they’re right in seeing my joy for the work. Because the degree of resilience, street smarts and emotional labour that goes into living through the shit stuff and turning up with a smile on your face to these moments, is beyond what most people really are capable of, which is why being a sex worker is a talent, worthy of it’s hourly rate (and more), and no-one should expect anything less for us, than to have a fucking good time doing the job we sacrifice so much to do.

I hear myself, nearly a bottle of Moët down, starting to deep dive down this convoluted rabbit hole and I stop myself. This is their fantasy, their moment, and even from a place of care and curiosity I’m overwhelmed by the words it would take to make someone fully comprehend, post-coitally, the complicated love I have for this work. I nuzzle into her breasts a little more and bring myself back to this moment, one I want to savour, and I say, genuinely - ‘of course I do, look where I am’.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Not all Light and Love

 TW - sexual assault

It’s not exactly the kind of memory I like to hang on to, but it lingers. Sometimes it’s at the forefront of my mind when I’m beginning new networks in the industry and meeting new peers. Sometimes you just don’t know what corners of the community are for you or against you.

If you’ve read my stuff before, then you’ll know that the sex work community is a big part of my love for the industry - there was and always has been a sense of ‘being amongst my people’ that I simply haven’t felt anywhere else. We’re a bunch of odd misfits and we celebrate that. But my relationship with the sex work community is exactly that - a relationship. Sometimes our relationship is healthier than others. I have unbreakable ties to this community but the relationship has varied from synergetic and uplifting, to toxic and damaging. 

I’m thinking about this now as I’m coming off the back of reading a couple of books about online trolling, of note being Troll Hunting by Ginger Gorman, and I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the stuff I’ve endured as a sex worker in an age of intense and increasing public presence. 

The online aspect of sex work has been present for me since day one. My very first day working at the high volume ‘agency’ I started in, a decade ago, was the same day I was reviewed, so I quickly discovered the existence of review boards. It was a very rude awakening - I started sex work under the guise of it being built on a culture of discretion and yet, it appears clients could talk about every aspect of us and what they did with us. Disgust was my first reaction, then fear, and then morbid curiosity. 

The New Zealand forums work a little differently to how they do in Australia - for a start there’s a lot more escort input so ‘hobbyists’ and sex workers mingle and talk together a lot more in discussion. It gets heated, it’s not a particularly nice place a lot of the time but it’s arguably a lot nicer than the cesspits that are the known Aussie boards. So it worked out that I joined up on my very first day to read what was said about me, and curiosity drew me in plus an instinctive ‘keep the enemy close’. 

I was pretty active on the review boards then, it’s where I spun off into blogging (this by the way is not the first, second or third blog I’ve had over the years, I’ve well and truly done the sex work blog gig by now) and I built up a reputation with my words well before Twitter became important. I didn’t get along with everyone, and I suppose that included some workers - being (especially back then, I’ve definitely mellowed with age) the passionate, outspoken and at times angry feminist that I was - heated words happened from time to time. But I also made good friends, even mentors on there and I definitely acquired a lot of clients who appreciated a little spunk in their sexual endeavours. 

I was already unfortunately well aware of the dark side of the Internet, having been stalked and harassed by my abusive ex for years. I learnt quickly that the internet was something that could be exploited by people to cause harm, but up until my time in sex work I just never appreciated the size of the problem or just how venomous people could be, that you didn’t even know.

Fast forward a few years and I’m touring in Wellington. I have an honestly awful tour, an anonymous person made a fake booking and then reported me to my hotel reception for ‘dodgy activity’ and I had my room raided by staff. Believe it or not, this stuff still happens under decriminalisation - hotels are allowed to refuse us working there. But also, I was sexually assaulted by a client. Now at that time I was in a huff with the review boards and wasn’t using them, and I was alone on tour unsure who to talk to or how to deal with myself. I wrote a blog about what happened to me, I guess writing has just always been an outlet, and published it and it was put on the review board. At the time my ex husband didn’t know how to respond, and I wasn’t out yet to my family - I didn’t know who to talk to, I hoped my community would hear me and be the family for me that I needed.

It just didn’t really work out that way. People in the forums questioned why I wrote it, people doubted my story, people thought I was attention seeking and worst of all, people blamed me for what happened. I won’t get into the details of the assault, I don’t want to, it’s not necessary and it’s behind me, but the actions out of my own community shocked me. It is unsurprising that the type of people who hang around on review boards are often misogynists and some of the things that were said were grotty but nonetheless unsurprising. But some of my own peers were doubting me, blaming me, and even started trolling me about it. Now there was support, I’m grateful to a lovely friend who came to my aid and others who were involved and there was love and care there. But in the end it came to feel overshadowed, in particular by one individual - a sex worker - who thought it would be a lot of fun to spend the next year or so trolling me and making fun of my sexual assault. It involved abusive name-calling and harassment, usually timed for when I was touring, when they knew I’d be alone again and sensitive. I think I’ve struggled to deal with the fact that this was permitted by the forums, but also because the establishment they worked from who claimed to be progressive in their sex worker rights and ethics, did nothing about it. For some reason this person, who didn’t know me, thought sexual assault of a peer was a lol-worthy event and with the full support of her own fanboys, seemingly their workplace and the forum itself, proceeded to try and get as many ‘lulz’ as possible out of my trauma.

I’m a much stronger individual now than I was then, I couldn’t really give two hoots what some immature little brat wants to say about me now - but things were raw then. I was younger and without the strong support network I have today. Back then I was the one comforting my own husband about my rape, I couldn’t call my family to talk about it or talk to any of my uni friends. I was alone, and where the forums had at times provided a sense of community and a safe place for discussion, I felt really betrayed by how quickly that turned really toxic for me. 

And people say when online interactions turn sour, well, why don’t you just turn it off? But how can you turn off the only thing that gives you a sense of connection to the only people who are like you? The world is very online now - it’s how we market, stay in touch, it’s how we work and how we live. You can’t just turn it off. And it’s so much more complex when you live a life that you can’t be completely open about in ‘real life’. It takes courage and a degree of risk to talk to people outside the sex work community about our job. I’ve lost so much personally and had to keep secrets to prevent it affecting the lives of my loved ones too. Sex workers take a lot of risks to be here, and so having a community in sex work can be so important for when there’s either no-one else to talk to, or just no-one who really ‘gets it’. It isn’t so simple to turn off the only place where your job isn’t the one thing you’re judged on. 

But since that experience, while the sex work community is in so many ways my family - it is definitely a dysfunctional one and one that I have never been able to fully lean on since. The organisations that rely on community do so much good work, and I’m grateful every time I see a client knowing I can do that legally, and I feel guilty at times that I never involve myself as much as I should. But every time I dip my toes in I feel just how deep that goes and everything I risk by jumping in. I want to bring positive attention to the community for all the good it has done and all the good it will do for others, but I feel at times that I gloss over some harsher realities by trying to be all ‘light and love’ for the benefit of social media ‘mood’ and the endless war against stigma. But the truth is that I had my heart broken by my community those years ago, while people watched on or even laughed, and that’s a wound that’s scarred viciously.

I’m a harder person because of trolling, because of deeply entrenched misogyny in the sex industry, and I know more than most that it’s not limited only to men or to clients, but that it’s alive and well within the community too. I’m happy and fine today because through circumstance and determination, I’ve been able to build a support network away from the industry, so I can ugly-cry into someone’s sleeve and not worry about how that might impact my survival network. I love you, my community, I do - but like my relationship with my Mother - I love you more from a safe distance.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Love

 Justine and Jake* book me for a few hours. It's their anniversary they tell me, they can't wait to meet me. They promptly pay a deposit and send me little kiss emojis. A little flutter happens in my tummy.

They sound like great clients, I do love seeing couples and the vibe they give off seems easy going and like they are going to be a lot of fun. I see a lot of couples, and every dynamic is different. Sometimes there’s a lot of rules about who is allowed to do what, to navigate jealousy and the general feelings that can arise when you watch someone you love touching someone else. And it’s all cool, I’ll always support people to do what feels comfortable for them and nothing else. Sometimes rules can be a bit of a tease which can also be fun in it’s own way. 

I generally like to hear from the woman first - too often I fear male partners (assuming cis-m/f couple here, as they seem to be my most common couple dynamic) might be coercing their loved one to do something outside their scope, and often times couples enquiries are fake - just a dudebro getting off to the fantasy of a threesome with their uninterested wife. But I persevere with this side of escorting because while I obviously thrive with individual clients - there’s something about a threesome with a couple that when it goes well - there’s an unmatchable high attached to it. 

Justine approached me - she articulated that this would be their first time introducing an extra person to the bedroom, but she sounded excited and honestly, enquiries from women are almost always top notch, respectful and to the point. Exactly how I like it. So my nervous flutter was one of excitement, not anxiety - I can’t wait to meet them.

I open the door to this jaw-dropping couple on their anniversary, and they’ve dressed up a little and the scent of Calvin Klein Light Blue and Marc Jacobs Daisy is intense but leaves an impression - and I’m flattered by their effort. They’re both in dark colours which reminds me of the sexy mysterious professionals in the big cities and it contrasts my yellow dress - bold being basically my signature by now. We pop some bubbles, the most aphrodisiac of drinks and my constant social drink of choice, and conversation is easy and flirty. We haven’t touched yet but there’s a trickle of excited sweat down my back which I hate the sensation of but signals the extent of my nervous anticipation. I’m the luckiest hooker in Australia tonight. 

If you know one thing about me it’s that I’m quite introverted, but I also thrive as the centre of attention (it’s an only child thing), and almost as if they knew it, I have become the focus of the evening. I drink them in and feel overwhelmed that such a gorgeous, sophisticated couple have for some reason chosen me to be their host for their maiden voyage into debauchery. My curiosity about their bodies, and how they move, drives us to the bedroom quicker than perhaps I’d usually take things. No complaints, believe me.

We’d discussed their boundaries in the booking process, for which they stipulated they were comfortable with each other getting fully involved in everything, which is fun. I think they’ve been anticipating this for a long time, couples often fuck and fantasise together about threesomes well before they happen - I know from experience. But I ask before kissing her - consent is sexy, but honestly I just want to hear her tell me she wants it - it drives me crazy hearing someone tell me they want me. My ego and sex drive often intertwine, I won’t apologise for it. I ask them before I kiss him, I run my hands around their bodies asking if they like it, and their moans of encouragement excite me. As she’s bi-curious, but never having done more than kiss a girl, I ask Justine if I can eat her pussy to which they both respond with a glint in their eyes - a certain ‘yes please’. Nice.

I usually find myself a little dominant with women, something I’ve discovered in the last couple of years - my switchey-ness has been well and truly cemented - and I push her knees up to her gorgeous chest and hold her still by the ankles while I eagerly pleasure her - Jake looking on as if he’s seen the light of God, and they kiss, hungrily with full love and support of each other as they journey through this new experience together. It’s truly the most beautiful thing.

Later, after a team effort of a blowjob and experiencing that condom sex is no barrier to fun, Jake cums also, behind me in doggy, watching his wife writhe around in pleasure while being held still by this strong, tattooed stranger that he’s fucking. And as I write this, I’m wet as a puddle, because obviously, physically, threesomes are a very sexy thing. For me as a bisexual woman, it’s a little like a smorgasbord - some of everything I like. Experiencing this with sexually progressive, stunning individuals is possibly the hottest thing I can do in this work. Work perks if you will - often this job is genuinely sexually exciting. I absolutely have thought about this booking while using my Satisfyer Pro (google it) a few times. But it’s also so much more than that, and this is where I get to (what I think is) the point of this post.

Love is just a beautiful thing to experience, to witness and to participate in. The experiences that I have with couples are just so magical because these two people have really put their trust in me to respect and celebrate the love that they have and to guide them in a way that is comfortable and unthreatening, into new touch, new experiences, new rabbit holes to fall down. When I’m in the company of people who fully support each other to really to explore, I’m most at home - this is my element.

After Jake and Justine leave, the smell of pussy making itself at home on my face, the latex smells and stale perfume still engulfing my senses, I call my partner B to tell them about what an amazing day I just had at work. I wander from one supportive relationship and back into my own, knowing that the reception I’ll receive when I tell this person who I love that I just ate the pussy of one of the hottest women I’ve ever seen, under the watchful eye of an excited husband, will be truly happy for me. Every genuinely supportive  partner of a sex worker wants a phonecall about a good day, hoping it isn’t a bad one. But B just genuinely wants me to have a damn good time and find my bliss. That’s polyamory, I’ve found. Afterwards, still beaming, I leave a message for my partner G, who later calls me with an OMG TELL ME EVERYTHING because their office job just never lives up to my work stories in their eyes (obviously I never give any details in my horny work stories that could even remotely identify my clients). G tells me that they think what I did for that relationship went beyond transaction and beyond sex, the Yoda that they are, and their pride in me and what I do melts me - G does that a lot. My partners don’t just tolerate my work - they know it’s a part of me and they’re proud of it. 

And this is who I am, at the core of things. I live a life rooted deeply in love. It’s a hard thing to say here, I think. I do keep my personal life very private and sacred, because that’s exactly what it is. But it’s really hard for me to convey my brand as one thing when I’m another. I want people to know that I am supportive of different relationship dynamics, I’m supportive of different sexualities and identities and people who are having their own struggles either with monogamy, with love or even just life. I want people to know that I foster an environment, backed up in my own life, where people can just be themselves and let go safely. I have been afraid I think, to discuss love, I know from experience in the last 10 years that you can lose clients if they know you’re loved - but perhaps I’ve outgrown putting up with people who think I should be denied the same things people enjoy in other occupations. I am not a possession - and love really fosters love. I bring more to my job, knowing I am supported through the good and the bad, and knowing that I have a safe place in the world outside of my job as well. Being loved, being poly, being bi, means I truly understand these moments, like with J & J, strengthening their relationship by having new experiences and exploring parts of themselves that may be on the surface quite sexual, but also touch on parts of your identity and place in the world. Being experienced, cared for and happy should never be seen as a negative in the world at all, lest of all the funny little world of sex work.

And no-one really talks enough about how much love surrounds and intertwines with the world of sex work, perhaps for the same reasons I have also shyed away from it. Sex work is definitely about sex with no strings, to a point. And it’s fun and I like it. Easy, breezy no strings fucking is high on my list of things I enjoy. But more often than not, it’s deeper than that. In this past year alone, even in spite of the absolute shit-show that is Covid-19, I’ve been a birthday present to people hired by their significant others. I’ve been part of anniversary (and wedding!) celebrations, I’ve been medicine for heartbreak, I’ve been a lockdown buddy, I’ve been the person people explore their sexuality with, I’ve been the person people share their secrets with and the person people talk to about the loves of their lives. And in my own life I am loved, I love, and I’ve supported my partners through other loves, heartbreaks and my friends through theirs too. And these moments, like with Justine and Jake, especially this year, remind me of our humanity, when at times it feels distant. Love really does transcend everything, and if we can celebrate it, explore it, support it and hold onto it, perhaps we can look back on these times and remember love most of all.

* Not real names, obviously - for discretion reasons consider them a product of artistic license

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

A journal of Covid and Cumming

 The only reason I finally get up is because the cat has taken to chewing my hair when I don’t feed him promptly enough. When I eventually see my hairdresser, no doubt she’ll remark on my split ends and I’ll know exactly who to blame. The cat and my refusal to brush my hair. What’s the point.

It’s another day, I’m not sure which one because it doesn’t really matter does it. It’s Covid-19 haze - a blur of days and weeks of quiet abnormality. I’m in full ISO because I’m ‘saving myself’ to see my lover who has a chronic illness. I’m self conscious at the pure thirstiness of stopping life to see a lover, but we all need a little something to look forward to, don’t we. It tickles my inner submissive to be so restrained for them, but I haven’t told them that yet. 

I’m masturbating incessantly, out of boredom, and procrastination. There are things I could do. There are things I could write and there’s a shit-tonne of study that I need to do, and yet my mind wanders to my lovers, who, through their memories I am lost in a fog of depression-fuelled frantic self-fucking. I’ve shut off the work room and the toys now live permanently next to my own bed. 

After my religious routine of coffee and eggs, that even Covid can’t break, I fall back to bed to continue the book I’m reading. I’m appreciating the artful tome - it’s fat and deliciously more-ish. I can’t concentrate on anything productive right now, but the book is holding my attention longer than Netflix can with my covid-affected internet connection. I can get lost in the sordid world of it, somehow bettering my own. Maybe I’ll walk today, do a little home exercise, or maybe I’ll stay here all day, trapped in a book, taking breaks only for sencha tea, to refresh twitter and to cum. 

Now that my work is restricted to online, each cum is stolen from the camera. If I have a sneaky one now, will it ruin it for later? Is my appearance too washed-up to film this time? I find it so hard to cum on camera, my mind doesn’t wander the same and simultaneously I’m not quite present enough. I worry about how I contort, how I sound, how much of a double chin I have at a particular angle and whether my orgasm looks convincing enough, as a non-squirter. People expect a lot from a pleasure that is supposedly ours.

This time, I can’t be bothered. Most times, to be honest. This is for me. I Skyped with my lover last night. We don’t fuck virtually, it doesn’t feel secure enough and honestly the thought of it feels awkward to me. So I hang onto little things that are said, which stir something in me. Simple things, like how they mentioned their hands on my hips, remind me of the last time we fucked. Nothing unusual, but equally very beautiful, sitting atop of them, their hands firmly on my hips, grinding into me so urgently and hungrily that I wish I could pause that moment and bottle it. It’s so primal and pure. The thought of them cumming makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sometimes when they laugh, their pitch sounds so similar to the exasperated, tumbling sound they make when they cum. Isolation is making me very sentimental, you see.

As my wand loudly humms, numbing my outer labia, all the while still slowly getting me off, I pull out my favourite, comfortable dong and fill my self with it, remembering the last time my lover filled me that way. Last night they talked about how they’d love to kiss me, and as I fuck myself I recall how they kissed me so deeply the last time we played together. They kept kissing me, even when they felt me fall over the edge, again and again at the mercy of their hand - for which they are truly the most capable I’ve met. Just talking to them floated to the surface memories of so many moments, that I clutch to now, using both hands and specific equipment to (somewhat violently) bring myself to a sticky, strong orgasm. 

I throw them aside, now satisfied and sad. It’s been so long since I basked in the afterglow of feelings and lust and multiple orgasms that don’t leave me sore. Doing it solo doesn’t fill the void of a person. I roll over, touching the spare side of the bed and imagine for a moment that I’m not alone in this. The cat jumps up and bats my hair, bringing me back to reality. I grab him for a cuddle and he swipes me, and I laugh, because my cat is the most consistent and normal part of this time and I’m grateful for his company, bratty as he may be.

I shower, imagining their arms around me, helping me scrub, and it brings a smile to my face that lasts from the walk from the shower, back to bed, where I stay today. I cum many, many more times, between chapters, so much that I can’t even feel myself pee due to the self abuse, and I long for the numbness to spread. There’s a light at the end of my tunnel - people looking forward to seeing me, and I count my blessings - competing closely with orgasms. The sun goes down and comes up and goes down again, each meaning one less day until I see my love, one less day of empty.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

That Man

 I throw him off me, using all my strength and a sudden sense of gratitude to myself for working out so much lately. This fucker can go to hell, I’m not putting up with this one moment longer. He lunges back for me and I hit him, holding back more than I should because I really don’t want the legal he said/she said if he leaves here with injuries. He just won’t take no for an answer, he apologises, but only as he keeps coming back to paw at me more, which I’ve screamed No at him about at least a dozen times already. He doesn’t relent going for me until I threaten the police - apparently the only kind of authority he has any kind of respect for. When he’s gone I cry, not even because this man was violating my consent, but because having to get physical with someone, having to defend myself, it scares me. I know I’m strong, but I always hope to never have to find out just what I’m capable of. At least I know I can keep myself safe, clearly I can’t rely on them to do that.

I had a client booked in after, and I knew he was excited to see me. I still needed the money and I really didn’t want to be that person who cancels because of drama at such short notice. So I open the door with a smile, and thankfully he is totally lovely. I can put the assault behind me for a little bit and remember that clients are usually great. He texts me after to tell me that he had a great time, and I know I’ve done my job well - I put my shit in a box for a moment and I delivered. 

But shit never stays in a box for long. I had booked a massage for that evening with a voucher I had been given, and it seemed a great idea to still go, do the self care thing. I earned it today. But two hours of pampering gave me way too much silence and time in my own head. It didn’t help anything other than my achey muscles. I rant to my friends, who all understand as we have all lived these experiences, sadly enough. They make my feelings about the event feel valid. There’s pressure to go to the police, which annoys me as surely we all also understood that lack of evidence was a factor, and the justice system is hopeless and retraumatising (I know from experience). But mostly I feel better. 

The rest of the week goes really well. People I’ve never met gift me, I had some absolute sweetheart clients. A booking I was excited about cancelled, which was sad but they paid my full fee into my account with an apology. Online stuff is positive, work is positive, and I remember that I love the job, the work isn’t the issue, it’s just that man. That man who couldn’t take no for an answer, who assaulted me and wouldn’t stop. 

And I’m reminded why we appreciate gifts and good clients so much. There is always a group, usually men on review boards, who hate the way sex workers ask to be treated well, or that we get gifts and tips. It really isn’t about any entitlement, but about the fact that there must be a silver lining that keeps us here, even when clients assault us or treat us poorly. We need the benefits, we need the displays of kindness, because it’s those amazing clients, even generous fans with the bonus extras, that help us heal when something goes terribly wrong. It is an unfortunate fact that bad men sometimes seek out escorts as prey - thinking they can buy consent and do whatever they want. And if most clients weren’t good, and some people weren’t generous - our spirit would not survive long being here. Nurturing good clients and fostering a culture of generosity and rewards, means that we can take a little time off to be okay after a bad event, we can have our faith renewed, and continue to be enthusiastic service providers, because we can be conditioned to know that everything will get better. 

I’m sorry this wasn’t the most upbeat post, but I think it’s important for people to know it isn’t always rainbows and orgasms. There is a dark side to this work, and if you’re a person who brings a little light with you to a session, thankfully the majority, know that you are appreciated and the reason that I still get up each day excited to be in this lifestyle. Your adoration and generosity does not go unnoticed, in fact it’s why after 10 years, I am still here fucking and writing, and always opening the door with a smile.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au