My client and I were in New York City watching the Off-Broadway play, “Domesticated”, and the word whore was used, he squeezed my knee as if to say, “don’t worry, you’re not a whore”. I chuckled under my breath. Why am I the only person who’s completely comfortable with calling myself a whore? It’s true. The title doesn’t bother me. I know it’s not the entire scope of who I am as a person, but come on, I am a hooker. I trade intimacy and friendship for money. It’s no biggie. That’s what the word means, right? I don’t find it degrading. What IS degrading is when men bargain with me. Or the guys who make me do mental gymnastics for the money. Skipping around that it is what it is. That’s my least favorite part of the biz—the negotiating. Well, not the least, but top five. Or the guys who lay on a guilt trip when they hand me the cash. Honey, if you don’t want to pay for sex, don’t do it. No one is forcing you. I understand that people are weirded-out by the enterprise, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I have boobs, you have money.