Beverley
Gold Member
Because sometimes, the heart forgets to charge extra for emotional Labour.
Rule number one in sex work: Don’t. Fall. For. The. Client.
Adorable, really. Like we can just log out of our feelings like we’re clocking out of a shift at Hooters.
Sure, in theory — boundaries, professionalism, emotional detachment, blah blah blah.
But in reality? You spend three hours making someone feel seen, adored, and less like a human raisin… and suddenly your heart’s like,
“Wait… are we in love?”
Look, no one plans to catch feelings.
It’s not on the booking form.
There’s no checkbox that says:
☐ GFE
☐ PSE
☐ Existential crisis about genuine emotional connection.
But then they do something stupidly sweet — like remember your cat’s name or make you laugh mid-undress — and boom, dopamine hits like a tequila shot.
Now you’re giggling, they’re staring like you hung the moon, and everyone’s pretending it’s just business.
Sure, babe. And my G-string’s just a fashion statement.
It starts small. They text “good morning” like you’re their girlfriend. You answer because, well, manners.
Next thing you know, you’re smiling at your phone like a teenager with Wi-Fi and daddy issues.
He brings your favourite snack next time. You roll your eyes, say “that’s not necessary,” and then eat the whole damn thing because boundaries taste like Doritos and regret.
Now you’re both in the emotional grey zone — somewhere between a love story and a tax-deductible transaction.
Then reality taps you on the shoulder like,
“Hey babe, remember? You charge by the hour, not by the heartbreak.”
Because the truth is — yes, the chemistry’s real, the connection’s real… but so are the boundaries.
You don’t get to ride off into the sunset; you ride to your next booking.
It’s confusing, it’s messy, and it’s human as hell.
It’s not. It’s feelings with receipts.
You’re part therapist, part fantasy, part emotional sponge.
And sometimes, the sponge soaks up a little too much.
But hey — at least we know how to love like professionals: with passion, precision, and an invoice.
Rule number one in sex work: Don’t. Fall. For. The. Client.
Adorable, really. Like we can just log out of our feelings like we’re clocking out of a shift at Hooters.
Sure, in theory — boundaries, professionalism, emotional detachment, blah blah blah.
But in reality? You spend three hours making someone feel seen, adored, and less like a human raisin… and suddenly your heart’s like,
“Wait… are we in love?”
Look, no one plans to catch feelings.
It’s not on the booking form.
There’s no checkbox that says:
☐ GFE
☐ PSE
☐ Existential crisis about genuine emotional connection.
But then they do something stupidly sweet — like remember your cat’s name or make you laugh mid-undress — and boom, dopamine hits like a tequila shot.
Now you’re giggling, they’re staring like you hung the moon, and everyone’s pretending it’s just business.
Sure, babe. And my G-string’s just a fashion statement.
It starts small. They text “good morning” like you’re their girlfriend. You answer because, well, manners.
Next thing you know, you’re smiling at your phone like a teenager with Wi-Fi and daddy issues.
He brings your favourite snack next time. You roll your eyes, say “that’s not necessary,” and then eat the whole damn thing because boundaries taste like Doritos and regret.
Now you’re both in the emotional grey zone — somewhere between a love story and a tax-deductible transaction.
Then reality taps you on the shoulder like,
“Hey babe, remember? You charge by the hour, not by the heartbreak.”
Because the truth is — yes, the chemistry’s real, the connection’s real… but so are the boundaries.
You don’t get to ride off into the sunset; you ride to your next booking.
It’s confusing, it’s messy, and it’s human as hell.
Moral of the Story
People think sex work is just sex.It’s not. It’s feelings with receipts.
You’re part therapist, part fantasy, part emotional sponge.
And sometimes, the sponge soaks up a little too much.
But hey — at least we know how to love like professionals: with passion, precision, and an invoice.