Someone recently asked if my friends and family know what I do for a living and how they feel about it. Yes, everyone knows. When I started stripping in 1992, no one was surprised. It was honestly the least shocking thing I had done. My father asked to see me perform once. He’s a hippie and didn’t grasp that although we did put on elaborate shows in the 90’s, I was still spread eagle and therefore the answer was “sorry pa, no can do”. I didn’t announce the hooking to anyone until much later. I came out of the prostitution closet to my non-sex industry friends slowly in the mid 2000’s and hinted at it with my mom. By 2007 I was completely transparent. The only people in my life who’ve had trouble swallowing the sex work have been my boyfriends—hence why I’m single and won’t entertain falling in love again until I retire.
My family is relatively small and not as close as some. I have identical twin brothers a year and a half my junior. We’re not in each other’s daily (or monthly) lives but they’re blood and a familiarity occurs when I see them. They’ll always be twelve in my eyes. They haven’t known as much about my story. Peppered information here and there. Funny tidbit, three years ago we gathered for my father’s seventieth birthday—it was the first time we were all together in a very long time. I told one of my brothers about the hooking (he’s the conservative of the twins), his reaction was priceless. He wasn’t shocked about the work itself, he couldn’t fathom that men were still paying me for sex at my age. He kept saying, “No, come on, but you’re so old.” I was cracking up. Apparently that always-a-kid perspective is a one-way street. Maybe it’s an older sister thing.