I often have the feeling that, as a sex worker, a large part of my job is to create space for and to hold my clients’ sexual shame. Sometimes this is easier than others.
When their shame stems from their own personal trauma or cultural programming that has little or nothing to do with me, I can often provide a safe bubble where they can explore what it feels like to either face it head-on in a controlled environment through play, or simply set it down and abandon themselves to their desires.
Then there are other times when their shame is more personal; when they come to me — in particular — because their desire for me is precisely the thing they are ashamed of. These men often have “respectable” wives at home and are looking to break from respectability for a few hours with a more heavily tattooed woman, or a fatter one, or a more wanton one. They often don’t need to say anything for me to know why they are with me, I feel it in the way that they stare at and paw my body.
There are moments of great beauty and profound intimacy in this work, moments when I can’t imagine doing anything more meaningful with my life. That being said, any job that carries with it this level of intensity takes a toll. It is very hard not to carry the weight of the shame that my clients drop at my feet, and the load can get heavy.
This past weekend, while at the Steel City Fetish Con, which took place on Sept. 28 at Spirit in Lawrenceville, it struck me that part of the reason this load gets heavy for sex workers is structural; with the exception of perhaps the strip club and the cam room, sex work takes place almost entirely in private, behind closed doors, and between very few people. It is done in secret, since criminalization, stigma, and mono-normative monogamous cultural expectations require discretion.
I was having these thoughts at Fetish Con, in large part, because the huge auditorium-style room where the contest took place was packed with people in fetish gear, there to cheer on contestants who were competing to win one of the titles being offered that night: Mr. Pgh Leather-Fetish, Ms. Pgh Leather-Fetish, Mr. Pgh Leather Bear, and Iron City Pup.
When each contestant took to the stage to participate in any one of the typical pageant categories — speech, talent, formal wear, bar wear, sexy wear, fantasy wear, “skin” (which I took to be an homage to the bathing suit competition a la Miss America) — the crowd erupted in cheer, praise, and support. Folks of all body types, all genders, and many different proclivities were recognized and valued as the community came together to celebrate. What’s more, former title holders came to welcome and affirm newer generations of kinksters. Most notably, Ms. Leather 1997 sat on the panel of judges.
Sitting in the audience I was reminded of many of my sissy clients who asked me, in hushed tones, if I was embarrassed for them by their lace panties. I thought of the many times that I held them and told them that they were beautiful just the way that they were, especially in their lace panties. While I adore some of these moments and relish the intimate private interactions, I also recognize that I am only one person and my opinion only goes so far.
From my reserved chair in the audience, while taking notes on the contest (and spilling my drink three times for reasons I can’t explain), I began to imagine what it would be like to see one of my clients on the stage, on their hands and knees, in beautiful lace panties.
I wondered what it would be like for them to be praised by a room full of people, who were there to celebrate the parts of themselves they have been trained by our hetero-normative culture to despise. While the pups were on stage being cheered on as they acted out some of their dynamics with their handlers, I wondered what it would be like to sit on stage with one of my clients while they sucked on my tits and I told them how good of a boy they were for Mommy.
There are many reasons why our interactions stay private, and why there will not (and perhaps should not) be a stage for us, and all of the intense, beautiful, and difficult interactions that we regularly have with the clients who bring their needs, desires, and shame to us. Yet, being at the event did make me realize that there is something about community that diffuses sexual shame, and that, while sex workers themselves often have community amongst each other, our clients often don’t have that same experience.
Perhaps all I can do as a sex-working writer is to say that I imagine a world in which everyone has access to a community that can celebrate the parts of ourselves we feel compelled to keep hidden. I wish that all my clients who come to me with shame could have the experience of standing on stage and being celebrated for their desires.
You can find Jessie on her website or her socials: X: @sapiotextual & Instagram: @curvaceous_sage.
