Why I Became a Sex Worker
By: Jane Jupiter
Tags: Sex Work, Sex, Pornography, Sexuality, Memoir

I’m newly 21, my girlfriend at the time and myself have just discovered “web camming.” The art of becoming a virtual sexual companion. Our first time broadcasting was less artistic, but definitely sexual. The site we signed up to stream on had a free chat area from which customers could click to take you private and be charged per minute while you tell them the things that make their mouths drop, or show them even more.

I’m embarrassed to admit we chugged Four Loko, the nasty sickly sweet mix of pure sugar, caffeine, alcohol, and food coloring. We turned the camera on and had sex, nearly oblivious to the beeps as people came in and out of our room. Were we broadcasting this sex show in the free chat area to the whole of the internet, or being paid? We never looked up. That was our first time on cam.

Was it empowering? Kind of. Kind of not. But most importantly it paid us enough money to get a place of our own, where we continued web camming together until we broke up. After that, I switched sites and kept at it alone. I chatted with customers from around the world. Very rich people, and people who didn’t have much to share at all.

Most fulfilling were the sessions with people who had little sexual outlets in their life. Men whose wives had medical issues, or who hadn’t had sex ever because they’re too shy to go out much. I empathized with them.

But mostly, I liked to be seen. When I broadcasted from my bedroom I was safe. And yet hundreds or even thousands of people could witness and participate in my sexuality. From this position I could be in control while I opened up. Opening up was always easy for me, in some ways more than others.

At the time, my anxiety didn’t allow me to keep up with a regular job on top of my schooling. A 9–5 never appealed, but at this time in my life such a structured job would’ve been impossible due to my mental health.

And that’s why I became a sex worker. But I think the more interesting question is why I choose sex work now, every day. I’ve been finished with school for years now, but I could go back for another degree in a short period of time if I wanted. A job in biology or marketing would suit me fine enough. But there’s a raw kind of magic in sex work that I’d miss too much.

In the day to day work, I would miss making naked people smile. But on a larger scale, I’d miss the behind the scenes work that goes into creating a successful career as a sex worker. Writing new copy for my ads and websites feels like inventing myself anew. Who am I feeling like now? Knowing that my words on the page directly influence the kinds of clients drawn to message and meet with me is incredibly powerful.

I hate to admit that I’m hopelessly drawn to the sparkly notebooks emblazoned with “Girl Boss” in half cursive font. It’s only my shame and penchant for the subreddit r/antimlm that keep me from owning one. Also, I’m not a girl boss, goddamn it, I’m a boss. Period. But this boss can be sparkly if she wants to. As a teen and in my early twenties I was very “not like other girls,” which made it hard for me to enjoy pink, glitter, and dresses.

When I began sex work I loved thinking I was not like other sex workers. I’m not a one dimensional bimbo. What a shock to discover other women aren’t either, although some market themselves that way because it’s a lucrative fantasy.

At the brothel I worked in outside of Las Vegas I became acquaintances if not friends with dozens of women. Some chose to work there shortly, just a few months every summer to help pay for college. Many women are working around the child custody schedule they share with their ex’s. I’ve met full service sex workers who are teachers, lawyers, and writers. And plenty who are “just” sex workers. It’s a career as valid as any other, to me at least.

I noticed some women have the idea that if they’re doing this longer than 3 years, or 5 years, or 10 years, then they are a failure. It seems so artificial to me, to denigrate the very work fattening your wallet, but society is a brainwashing bitch. It’s hard enough to be a sex worker, let alone *gasp* an aging woman who is a sex worker.

But I’m not committing to a 10 year limit, which would set my sex work career to expire December 2020. I want to see how far I can take it, or maybe how far it can take me. Constant change does my soul good. Maybe at 48 I’ll be doing mommy hypnosis fetish porn. There’s a niche for EVERYTHING in the sex industry.

Will I change the world? Probably not. But I’ll be the author of thousands of orgasms, and that makes me pretty damn satisfied. Most importantly I’ll feel satisfied to have built this career, this job that no one thinks I should have, into this big, weird, beautiful thing that supported me all along.