International Whores Day

On June 2, 1975, a group of sex workers in Lyon, France, and their supporters took over a church to protest against police harassment of street workers, increasing numbers of arrests and a lack of interest shown by police in solving murders and other crimes committed against those working in the sex industry.

The protestors challenged the police to arrest anyone they could identify as a sex worker, making the point being that most sex workers are ordinary people doing a job and cannot be told apart from others. This action led to the modern-day international sex workers’ rights movement, with celebrations for International Whores’ Day taking place across the world.

Glimpses of a Baby Whoretic

First sign I was a feminist:
Sitting in church every week, listening to the sermons given by the Priest. Thinking that's what I wanted to be when I grew up (I was maybe 4 at a guess). I thought I'd be able to give really inspiring sermons, shifting people's attitudes and lifestyles for the better. When I worked out I could never be a priest because I was a grrrl, a cold core of anger formed in my heart and Catholicism died a personal death for me. Kids always know what's fair and unfair.

First sign I was a femme:
In that same church, sitting in the same family pew every week, a woman sitting in the pew in front of us had hair so long she could sit on it. I was hungry and transfixed by her hair every week, imagining the day when I would be old enough to own hair as gloriously long myself. (I still do)

First sign I had a life-long boner for gender queers:
I was about 8 and madly, deeply in love with Boy George. I (somehow) knew he was gay, but just didn't care. I'd never seen a more beautiful creature. I collected every magazine, every poster. I slept with a Boy George doll. It feels a leetle creepy now to think of it - it was a Barbie-type of plastic doll, not a rag doll. But it was Boy George! With beautiful painted make up and the colour by numbers suit *sigh*

First sign I was into women:
A childhood spent watching 60s TV show reruns on the afternoon. Ginger Grant (the movie star) from Gilligans Island - the curves, the beehive, the shimmering evening gowns, the sexy music that played whenever she entered a scene. I now get that she was a second-rate Marilyn Monroe impersonator, but at the time....

And Catwoman from the old Batman TV show. Cat suits, claws, growls and purrs, ballet moves, sexy and dangerous in the one combination.

If there were sexy butch characters in 60s sitcoms, I just might have skipped a few stages in erotic development.

First sign I was kinky:
Playing Batman and Robin with my two male cousins. It was about the age where for a year or two most grrrls are stronger than most boys. I (of course) was Catwoman. Every time we played, I'd beat them, capture and tie them up, before revealing their secret identities to the world and killing them. They used to complain that this wasn't what was supposed to happen, but somehow it always did.

First sign I was going to be a whore when I grew up:
Finally familiarising myself with the original Monroe - late night movies: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How to Marry a Millionaire. I decided having a sugar daddy was better than getting a dreary job or catching myself a husband. Freedom and diamond tiaras! I could never quite work out how to obtain a sugar daddy (and after watching my friends manage the demands and controlling behaviour of theirs, I decided I didn't want one) so regular sex work it was.

Ask the Whore

I've had many, many of those conversations I refer to as 'sex work 101' with people, where people know I'm a sex worker, and want to check out bad movie/ media stereotypes about sex work, or just find out what it's like to be a sex worker. It can get a wee bit draining after the 50,000th time you're asked the same questions, but it feels important that the community education happens. And I'd rather people hear from me than Sheila Jeffreys et al, or the religious right, or the mainstream media.

There is the odd time where it would feel easier to just have a pamphlet to hand out, Anyway, instead I've decided to post responses to frequently asked questions on this blog. Please ask any questions about sex work you'd like - don't worry about appearing clueless, trust me I've heard it all. If you want to post anonomously, feel free, and for those of you that know my email address, you can email me questions, instead. When I have enough, I'll do a big FAQ post. Thanks!

The joys of Quitting

I've been on patches since Saturday. As usual, when trying to quit smoking, my dream-life becomes vivid, and remarkably filled out. A cast of characters that rather resemble the sexual role call that my life has become over the last 6 weeks or so. On Saturday night I was wearing Mayhem's vulva mask (see her user pic) for at least half of an epic dream that seemed to take hours. My dream imagery is often very unsubtle and unimaginative. It became clear upon waking that this is a comment on my lack of shagging action over the last month, and my feelings in relation to this. Arrggghhhh! You'd think that my subconcious could come up with another metaphor for sexual frustration that walking around with a giant cunt on my head...

Sunday night I was living in a trailer park (is this a statement about my anxiety over the high costs of living in Sydney? Or a reflection of class conflict?) Within the first day of not smoking, my hideous flu returned. Flu-like symptoms are usually associated with detoxing from herion, leaving no illusions about how damned addictive cigarettes are. The good thing about this flu is I'm too busy being sick to notice withdrawl symptoms.

I had a client the other day who seemed to be wishing to help me out with any oral-fixation issues I might have as a result of not smoking- with a 45 minute blow job! Anyway, I clearly don't have any oral fixation issues - thanks Mr Freud (sometimes a cigar is just a cigar). This is a guy who has clearly watched way too much porn.... he seemed to really think that cock sucking would be such a treat for me. It's kinda funny that he picked the dyke top out of the line up. It would've been more fun for me if he wanted to suck my cock.

I'm actually enjoying the detox time. It feels good to release all this stored crap. The timing may seem a little strange, but being away from my non-sex work job for a couple of weeks means that I can be so brain-dead from withdrawl, without it impacting much on me.The thing that concerns me is not drinking, and having such a minimal illicit drug intake, I'll be left with no vices. there is something so smug and puritanical about str8-edge types, I'd hate to resemble them. Quitting feels like another valuable way of demonstrating my commitment to myself.

The Big Reveal

I’ve been out to Hellfire last Friday and to Sly Fox on Wednesday. Hellfire was fun. The last time I went, there was so many sleazy str8 guys wearing street clothes perving on the freaks and scantily clad women that I was a little put off. This time it was much better. Zoo was a beautiful human Christmas tree!

As I’ve been out and about I’ve run into people who I haven’t chatted to much lately, who let me know they’ve been reading this blog, and liking it. It was very nice to get positive feedback, but made me feel oddly vulnerable for a few moments. I’m not under any illusions that what is published in cyberspace is private, and with my activism, outness and performance, I’ve never been someone who exists solely in the private sphere. This blog was never going to be a series of random secrets and bitching. However, I did start thinking about what drives me to be so open and revealing of myself….

An intersex activist in Adelaide was speaking at a Feast forum on sex and gender a few years ago, and talked about how intersex people use their bodies as educational tools when giving others an insight into intersex issues. I thought about that at the time, and I feel that I use my lived experience a lot in making connections with others, increasing awareness about marginalised communities I identify with, and also as a way of offering support and shared experience for those people who have connected/similar happenings in their lives.

How public I am about my sex work/ queerness/ mental health issues is also a way of refusing stigma. I understand why many people can’t be open about these issues. They risk family and friends disowning them, possibly losing jobs or children. However, I can’t help feeling as if silence around this stuff contributes to stigma. Instead of arranging my points of marginalisation so that they fit into a closet and don’t impact on my life, I’ve arranged my life so I don’t have to be closeted. I chose to walk away from my biological family; I’ve chosen to only go for non-sex work jobs that allow me to be out about my work. I’ve tried really hard to keep my life free of bigots.

I’ve spent a lot of time challenging bigots in the public realm, like talk radio debates as an out sex worker with representatives from the Catholic Education Office in SA on sex work law reform. I don’t feel like I can do those things and be fighting the same battles with loved ones. It would just be exhausting. I need to be accepted, nurtured and celebrated in my private world in order to go into battle. I can’t be apologising for who I am, or never debriefing about a hard day, lest it reinforce a negative stereotype. I can’t be managing the embarrassment and discomfort of partners or family while I’m having things shoved up me on stage, or doing some sex positive education session at an event.

I refuse to take on the idea that depression, sex work or queerness are shameful, or need to be hidden. I feel like by my openness and normalising of these qualities must help in normalising them for others. After all, unlike heterosexuality, depression seems both normal and common…. and unlike homosexuality, depression can be cured if you seek support.

I think my approach to changing the world seems to be to imagine a world which feels safe for me and my kin, and live as if it’s already here. Sometimes this technique can hypnotise entire crowds into believing that queer dyke whores with mental health issues are the coolest people in the world. ;)

Spending your life trying desperately for safety and shying away from revealing anything sounds incredibly isolating to me. And far from avoiding stigma, for me it would be a daily reinforcement. However, I try to remember a statistic I heard many years ago – only about 4% of any community are activists. So it makes sense that not everyone has the kind of personality that embraces crusading for liberation at the expense of a truely private life.

If you stumble about Her Royal Whoreness, add a comment please. Tell me what you agree or disagree with. Interactivity is one of the joys of blogging.

Happy Summer Solstice (Litha) everyone!

Innocence / Ignorance

I'm so pleased that Katrina Fox has taken on the issue of underage sex: http://katrinafox.blogspot.com/2006/11/underage-sex.html

So often the 'innocence of children' is used to excuse censorship and other oppressive actions of the State. Keeping young people in a state of ignorance about sex, sexuality and their own bodies does not protect young people from abuse, and is ultimately disempowering.

However, kiddie porn and paedophilia panic often means people are too frightened of being labeled a child abuser to speak about these issues. As someone who was raised ignorant if not precisely innocent, I had to work really hard, tell lots of lies and get myself into a lot of trouble to access non-judgemental information about sex. I'm glad I was gutsy enough to do it. I shudder to think of the amount of terminations and/or STIs I may have had to deal with as a teenager, otherwise. It is so important to ensure young people have access to accurate information, and are raised in ways that foster a sense of pride in and ownership of their own bodies. That they know that their body is theirs, not god's, not their parents, and are able to make choices that feel right to them. I feel that age of consent, kiddie porn panics and mandatory reporting gets in the way of supportive adults being able to share information with young people.

I also feel it's really important for young people to not be trained to be 'obedient' to be considered a good girl or boy. That it's okay if they don't want to kiss the uncle who gives them the creeps. To promote the idea that young people belong to themselves, not to adults.