Rock Paper Sex Volume 2: Trigger Warning

Introduction

NEARLY SEVEN YEARS HAVE passed since I started the research for the first volume of Rock Paper Sex. I made a lot of mistakes with that first book. I am not a social worker. I am not an expert in any field pertaining to sex work. My interest in this topic was sparked by my gender. As a woman and feminist, I am motivated to shine light on issues that affect lives. Womanhood, motherhood, the nature of female friendships, stories of the body: there is so much to talk about. So much of women’s collective story is not told at all, or historically, not told in our voices or from our perspectives. The stories in this book (and in the volume that preceded it) are, above all, about women and minorities—our experiences, rights, opinions, and lives. If something affects one of us, it affects all of us.

Since the first book came out, I’ve learned so much. The discourse on sex work has expanded dramatically since 2014. This work is now more openly discussed in the news, on social media, and in our everyday lives.

In the process of writing and researching in various ways, both informally and formally, I’ve gained more knowledge about trauma, consent, exploitation, human trafficking, and harm reduction. Talking to experts and people with experience, as well as reading, volunteering, and engaging in different conversations with interested people and readers, has strengthened my understanding.

Understanding how trauma works was paramount for a healthy participant-writer relationship and for the successful completion of this book. Stories of trauma can trigger the trauma brain, and I didn’t fully understand this when starting the research for the first collection. In writing this second volume, I’ve tried to check in with all participants, regardless of their story, within a week of their telling it. I also gave people more time to review and edit their pieces. Most of the people I interviewed for this collection came to me through word of mouth. This time, I didn’t have to work as hard to get these interviews. For the previous volume, I put out a call on social media, hung paper posters, and posted on the NL Adult website. The interviews for this volume happened a little more naturally. I met the participants through friends or acquaintances, or talked again with those who contributed to my first book. Due to the restrictions COVID-19 forced on all of us, nearly all interviews were done over the phone, unless otherwise noted.

Over the past few years, I gained knowledge by volunteering with Blue Door¹ when I did a narrative therapy writing group with some of its participants. This not only allowed me to learn about trauma and exploitation, it helped me carve out relationships with strong women (both workers and participants), with whom I continue to talk. This was one of the most powerful experiences for me. I would attend their group once a month, bringing prompts, and we would write together. Sometimes it was fun or funny; sometimes it was heart-wrenching and awful. Some of the participants showed a genuine talent for writing and really took to narrative therapy.

I now call some of these women my friends.

As I was writing the first volume of Rock Paper Sex, I was learning about human trafficking detection from a financial crime perspective through my work at Verafin, a global leader in the fight against financial crime that is headquartered in St. John’s—the capital of Newfoundland and Labrador, and Canada’s easternmost city. I had the privilege of learning from some of the most prominent voices in the fight against human trafficking in Canada and attending an international human trafficking conference in Toronto. I became friends with survivor, activist, and author Timea Nagy. I was also able to connect with survivor Simone Bell, who taught me about domestic trafficking. While the opinions I put forth in this book are wholly my own, these relationships and experiences have shaped my understanding of the topic. I continue to be inspired by these women and their strength, perseverance, and activism.

Another difference between this book and the last one is the confidence with which I can express my opinions now. In 2014 and during the publication process, I did not have such firm opinions, and I was scared to publicly discuss my thoughts on some of these things. Is this politically correct? What groups might I insult? Who am I going to offend? How can I support this person, who is a consensual sex worker, and also support this other person, who is a survivor of trafficking? These are some questions I still can’t answer.

I firmly support a woman’s right to choose what she does with her own body. I think it is possible for women to engage in consensual sex work and not be exploited. I think it is possible for women to engage in consensual sex work at one point in their lives and then find themselves being exploited or forced in another. I believe this is the type of work that should not have a boss. I believe in harm reduction approaches. I do not believe in carceral approaches for sex workers. I think the justice system is built to work against women who have been victims of sexual assault—especially if that assault was related to sex work. I know that human trafficking and sexual slavery are real and present problems in Newfoundland and Labrador and across Canada.

Even with all of the conversations and learning that I have in my rear-view, I still seek to learn more about legalization and criminalization. One question I get asked a lot is Should prostitution be legalized? That could be the toughest question of all, especially if, like me, you deal in stories and not necessarily in legal frameworks or policy options. Legalization for one person might be ideal, but for another could lead to a range of worsening problems. I do know that if sex work is ever to be legalized or totally decriminalized, the entire legislation needs to be rewritten in consultation with people who have experience in sex work. They need to be present and have their voices heard. While consensual sex work and sexual slavery have intersections across a spectrum of experiences, they are different. That is where the crux of the legislative problems lies. How do we write clear laws that can address so many grey areas? I don’t know the answer to that.

Then there’s the notion of morality. What is moral? What isn’t? Just being able to consider morality is a matter of privilege. Sometimes it is not even a consideration—such as when people are living below the poverty level while trying to provide for themselves or their children, or when they are being forced by a pimp to sell sex, or if they need to feed a drug habit. If we bring morality into this conversation, we need to examine why women do this work in the first place. Prostitution has been around, arguably, forever. Why is that? There have historically been few options that allow women to make money quickly or to earn enough money, the way men can, to provide for their families in times of need. If this is a pervasive problem, then we need to address systemic gender inequalities. That is no easy task.

I hope this book will help shed some light on the needs, struggles, and experiences of many people who are (or were) involved in sex work—whether forced or consensual, related to human trafficking, independent or otherwise. They, above all others, are the ones who need to inform policy. Their voices are the important ones.

My greatest interest and concern is how policy, law enforcement, and the general public see, serve, and protect women and minorities. Most sex workers in our province are women, and they all have individual stories that intersect at various points. Every person I interviewed agreed that consensual sex work should be independent—that is, where the seller chooses who they see and what they do, and gets to keep their money. Every person thought more should be done to protect people from human trafficking and victimization. In order to protect individuals, we need to better understand the factors at play. Lawmakers, policy writers, politicians, and police officers all need an education in how to understand a complex, dynamic landscape that has a multitude of players with varying needs.

In the coming pages, you will meet many people who have been involved in the sex industry in Newfoundland. Some stories were completed before the COVID-19 pandemic. The ones completed during or after the pandemic will reference it. You will hear from a woman whose husband cheated on her with escorts; a buyer who has been purchasing services for over three decades; the owner of some massage parlours and the website NL Adult; sex workers from many walks of life, whether escorting, dancing, or doing street work; and survivors of exploitation and human trafficking. The quotes between chapters have been submitted by former and current sex workers. Each participant has approved their story for publishing, and most chose to use a pseudonym or remain anonymous.²

Some of these stories are hard to read. I’ve included crisis line information throughout to help you navigate this book in a way that supports your mental health and well-being. This book and these stories are not for everyone, which is why they come with a trigger warning, but they are important to write and to read. I tell these stories not to exploit, but to show solidarity and acceptance, and to promote education and understanding.

Blue Door is a local organization that provides supports to help people leave the sex industry. Multiple participants mention Blue Door in this volume.

Note: All quoted text is verbatim, and so has not been edited for syntax or grammar, in order to maintain the participant’s voice.

24-hour Mental Health Crisis Line 1-888-737-4668

I Think There’s Been a Turn for the Better

IT’S BEEN OVER FIVE years since I interviewed Rachel for Rock Paper Sex. Back then she had just started in the industry. She was tiptoeing into a world she didn’t know much about with the hope of making money not only to live, but to help her save for some expensive surgeries that would support her full transition from male to female. Rachel is still selling sex from her home, is still enjoying it, and is making enough money to live, be choosy about her clients, and invest time in things she never had time for before.

Many of the people I interview have a wavering relationship with sex work. They go in and out of it for weeks or months or years at a time. They love it and hate it. It’s a very capricious dynamic. Not so with Rachel. She’s loved it since she started: It’s great. It’s still my only job, the only job I’ve ever had that I celebrate the year being at the same job. Usually, before, it would be get drunk and try not to cry a lot.

Before this, she worked in food service. If she hadn’t forayed into sex work, she thinks she’d still be there:

I’d still be hating life. I don’t know. Every now and then you go through a bad patch, especially in the worst time of year, right after January. Sometimes around February and March it gets really slow and you think like fuck, I hope I don’t have to go back to normal work and oh man, it’s soulless—that’s the word that comes in my head. I can’t imagine. I’d still be making minimum wage. I wouldn’t be as close to my parents as I am now. I have so much more free time now. That’s before the whole COVID-19 business. I would call my parents all the time and see them multiple times a year instead of just once over Christmas. One of the things I kinda noticed when I used to work is just how carved out of the world you are. It’s wild.

One of the reasons Rachel’s experience with sex work is generally good is probably the service she provides. She’s in a niche market—not a lot of people offer what she does—so she can charge a fair price and be choosy about her clients:

Even though I’ve been at it a long time, I’m not flooded with work. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m good. I could use being a little busier, but I think anyone in any business feels that. I’ve positioned myself to where I’m decent anyway. I don’t see a lot of people.

She recently started collaborating with another woman and offering a duo service, for which she charges even more. One person tried to haggle, and her response was, You realize you’re asking for a unicorn.³ As a rule she never engages anyone who haggles.

She advertises on NL Adult regularly and has her own website, complete with professional photos—something she didn’t have five years ago:

That’s the only place where I regularly get people from. I have my own website now . . . but my website gets so little traffic that I kind of have forgotten about it and I get almost all of my work from NL Adult now. The site has been constantly changing. It’s also been switching hands for who owns it too. I don’t remember how many times that’s happened, but at least once. When you get on it now . . . when you’re scrolling, the first two to three pages are all for HUSH, and then when you scroll down through all of that, you get the regular ads.

Rachel’s ads haven’t changed much since the beginning. Her services have remained constant and she still does only in-calls:⁴

I was advertising BDSM ⁵-type stuff, but I got rid of that because no one was really asking for it that much. What I got mostly was people trying to—what a friend called text jerking.⁶ That’s something I’ve gotten a whole lot better at—weeding out the idiots.

Text jerking and picture collectors are all too common in this business:

I don’t send pics. I’ve developed this sixth sense when people are actually going to show up or not. They go so far to make an appointment with you to come over and I can tell if they’re going to show up at all or if I’ll get a text message saying that they can’t come. It’s funny how you get used to it.

Even though Rachel’s services have remained relatively consistent, the way the public, the media, and the city approach conversations around sex work certainly has not. When I started the research for the first volume in 2014, there was hardly any local information or articles out there. It was so hard to find anything. It was even harder to find people who knew how to approach the topic and understood its politics and language. Rachel feels positive about the growing body of knowledge:

I think there’s been a turn for the better, at least in some small amount. I think SHOP⁷ and those people actually have a lot to do with that. The moratorium was lifted. They had a lot to do with that. They used to just be an offshoot of the [St. John’s] Women’s Centre, and all of their funding was coming from there, but now they’re their own entity, which is in the eyes of the government. It’s huge. It’s the beginning of the end of stigma, getting the government on your side. I had sent them a letter—the councillors. There was a story or two that a couple of media places did about the moratorium, and some of my quotes were used in that. Even just with that, it was worth it.⁸ The media has been sort of on our side and sort of not on our side, but at least sometimes—some of them. There’s been a bit of a turn in the public eye, or in the feel in the city.

Education initiatives and advocacy have slowly created this upswing of shared understanding among the general population, from what I can see, and that’s a result of people like Rachel—people with experience—speaking out, which is not an easy task:

I’ve been on the radio a few times. I’ve been part of different stories that CBC did not that long ago. I was one of the people they got quotes from. The one just before that was in the summer—NTV maybe—that was long ago. They did a written story instead of it being part of a TV show and they had quotes from me and someone else and used a picture of me from behind. So people couldn’t tell who it was, and later I had a sex worker send me a story where another person used that picture in a different story that was not supportive of sex work. It wasn’t affiliated with NTV. They put a quote below the picture and the quote wasn’t from me. This sex worker had a bad experience. It was CBC. I went and looked up who it was and it was literally some intern. So I sent him a message and I said take it down or I’ll be taking legal action. It was handled quickly, but it