Sex work and transsexual stereotyping

I’ve had the last couple of days off. I recognized the feeling of burnout approaching and so spent the time reading a lot of blogs and forums on the net.

And I think I’m probably worse off for it, even though my knowledge has increased a fair bit.

One thing that has been stuck in my mind for a few months now is the stereotype of the transsexual who is a whore, a sex worker, a prostitute.

One comment from a blog entry by Anonymous T-Girl really set me thinking:

“i haven’t seen the ‘lingerie’ video. But that kind of thing is precisely what i strive to counter in my life; the image of a transsexual woman as nothing more than a prostitute or sex-industry worker.”

“i have no moral problem with sex work.”

“But those few transsexuals that publicly engage in it are casting a disproportionate shadow on the vast majority of transsexual women who do not. Let alone the bad light cast upon us by sexually-motivated transgenders and transvestites.”

“Which means you simply don’t give a damn what harm your actions bring to women everywhere, or what stereo-types you perpetuate.”

I’m a pretty self-concious woman. I usually worry about my effect on others, which is something I’ve been working on as well for my own sanity. But Anonymous T-Girl’s comment reminded me of a classic essay I read just before I started transition, “So You Want to be a T-Girl – A Realistic Guide to the Transitional Journey.” It’s not for the faint of heart at all. And in places like Laura’s Playground, not welcome in the slightest.

I can see why. It’s not coated in syrupy sacharine artificial sweeteners, being an opinion piece of course it is very well, opinionated! It’s critical, it’s harsh, and quite a lot of the time cuts right to the bone of the matter. And it’s depressing as hell. By the time I got to the end of Part 3 I was questioning absolutely everything in my life, and in hindsight that was a blessing with regards to my transitioning process. Because it’s so damn true in a lot of ways.

Re-reading it yesterday, I got as far as her chapter ‘Sex, Lies and Men.’ From that point on I had severe deja-vus.

If you, as a crossdresser or transvestite, have not figured out yet that you are nothing more than a fantasy to men, a simple sexual curiosity, then leave now… you are an idiot and cannot comprehend anything I am telling you. You are a fantasy, a sexual curiosity, and little more. Period. Done. End of story. Realize it, deal with it, and try your best to get along with the idea because no amount of talking, civil rights advances, or television shows will ever change that.
Why? It all comes down to one thing: you are merely a cleverly disguised vessel for a penis. That is all you are, and all you ever will be to men. And women. If someone is sexually interested in you, man or woman, then all they are interested in is your hidden penis… tucked away under all things feminine… cleverly disguised between layers of silk and lace… hidden, but there. If someone wants you, they do not want you, they want your penis. Period.

Fine and dandy for a CD or a TV… Great, in fact. Just peachy. Every T-girl went through that phase of life, and enjoyed every minute of it too. But things change. Being a mere fantasy and sexual curiosity, being nothing more than a penis carrier, is not very fulfilling. In fact, it becomes a burden, a disgrace, and quite emotionally painful after you transition. It sucks.
A girl who has been forced into a secretive life for decades finally has her bell go off… she lives the rest of her life as a woman. All things feminine pour forth like the water over Niagara Falls, unstoppable. You venture boldly into this world leaving everything you ever knew, loved, cherished, and were comfortable with, just too keep from going insane. You burst into the world and expect to be treated as a woman but you find no job, no comfort, no joy—only sex. Sex in dark rooms, hotel rooms, and the bedrooms of married men. There are no nice dinners and sparkling balls, just scared, excited men trying to live out a fantasy.

And you are a fantasy. Not real, not a part of the real world, not a part of their world. At best you find comfort in the occasional man. You meet thousands who start off their conversations with “You know, I am not gay, but I have always had this fantasy…” My god, will you hear those words! A fantasy… that is what you are. Not a person, not a woman, not even a sex object… just a fantasy. A dream. Not real.

Even the men you do see, date, and have sex with will soon disappear because you are a fantasy. They go there, they try that, and then they move on. Another form of conquest… another fantasy fulfilled… another notch on the old bedpost… and always in private, in secret, like you are a monster not to be taken outside the confines of a closed bedroom.

And oh, by the way… 90% of all the men (and women) who want sex from you will want you to penetrate them with your penis. You are into that, right? Oh, you are? Well, talk to me after you start your transition and the hormones! And just a silly side note… if you are into gay sex, penetrating a man with your penis, or a woman for that matter, what the hell are you doing transitioning in the first place? I still have yet to hear of a woman with a penis…

And one last by the way… how can you blame men anyway for keeping you hidden from the world? We all want a courageous man on our arms, or a courageous woman, but the reality of the situation is that these men face the same ridicule as you do. They face the same prejudices, teasing, and ignorance… If they date you, their sexuality is questioned, their job is at stake, and they get ribbed and beaten and killed in the streets. Do they lack courage? Or are they just taking into consideration the fact that the world is not ready for them, or you?

So, you are a sex object, a sexual curiosity, a toy, a notch on a bedpost and an unreal dream. Hell, girl, you are indeed special. What genetic girl can claim all that? And you have an entire new life to start, with no job, no insurance, no family, and no friends. You need $100,000 over the next few years before you can go stealth while you live, eat, pay bills, get all the surgeries, and pay for all the clothes and jewelry, hair and make-up, accessories and shoes, and a million other things you do not yet have for that brand new life. So? What do you do?

Escort, hon, damned near everyone else has. Including your banker, lawyer, doctor and many professionals who ever went to college. Half of them did, trust me. And why not?

Well, that is up to you. You are a highly coveted sex prize wanted by almost every man on the planet, yet all they want is a new, exciting, or adventurous sexual experience. And you have no money. But you have a schedule… a huge schedule with very little time that requires a lot of cash. And hell, you need sex too. But now you know why so many T-girls quit or commit suicide. It is not just the losses they suffer, the indignities they suffer, or the financial problems they have, though these are reason enough to. No, most try to make it work, and if the above does not get them, then they contemplate escorting. And if that does not get them, then maybe the guilt and anguish suffered by selling their bodies does get them. You decide. You decide why they quit, commit suicide, or are a part of the 15% that make it. Your choice.

But let’s face it, few of us can escort upon the initial transition. What do most do? Most of us either muddle though it the best we can. Literally from day to day, from paycheck to paycheck if we are lucky enough to have one. But many of us prostitute ourselves in the same way genetic girls do… through a symbiotic relationship of some kind…. Prostitution? No more than marriage. But in reality, many of us get through the transition this way, just the same way most GG’s get through their lives.

Got all that? Haha 🙂

Seriously, I do give a damn about stereotypes I might be perpetuating. I mean after all, I’m six foot tall and pass and in the youthful prime of my life (and oh how I hope it is a long long life). Being a sex worker is something that suits my needs and desires well. If I need a week off to grow my facial hair in the continuing painful *epic painful* process of ongoing electrolysis, and a couple a days of getting more done, then another 4 to 5 days recovering, for the life of me I cannot imagine doing that transitioning in an office job living full time as woman.

When I’m growing my facial hair, it’s impossible for me to leave the house. Or look in the mirror. I am that disgusted/revolted.

And add to that being a part-time mother of a bub week in week out, so in the days I have left, no other job can even come close to what I need to survive and more importantly thrive.

So I rent my body for an hour at a time, at the days of my choosing. When I’m working, heading to a hotel or residence, I dress like any other late 20’s professional woman going about her daily business. I do my utmost to blend in, to just be another girl. It’s hilarious at times because some guys seem to have watched ‘Pretty Woman’ too many times and think your going to turn up in black pvc cfm’s and a pink lycra micro-mini!

But yes I am guilty. I’m a pre-op tall blonde transsexual who is a prostitute, and even more, I do so willingly. I enjoy it mostly. Like any job it has its ups and downs. You have to be smart, switched on. Not high on drugs. Not living in a fantasy land of this ‘gravy train’ lasting forever, because there is always someone new, someone younger. I know I exist at the very top of the sex industry pyramid, and that the vast majority are not so lucky.

And that even at the top, sometimes I am nothing more than a delivery system for a penis.

It’s a funny life.



Being a sex worker who is also in the process of transitioning, sometimes I find myself being in an uneasy alliance with the tools of the trade. Terminolgy.

Shemale. Chick with a dick. Fully Functional. Tranny.

I don’t identify with any of those terms full stop once I leave the hotel room or finish replying to a email or updating my website. I identify as a woman, no more, no less. The male appendage between my legs is my ticket to a successful transition, and at the end, will be no more.

There is no such thing as a women with a penis. Yet I feel stuck at the moment inbetween worlds, because to a lot of guys, being with a transsexual is all about the penis. We’re vessels, a delivery system, a feminine, non-threatening method of delivering a cock to the hungry mouths and holes of guys.

I’m going to explore this a lot in later posts. Thanks for reading.

And so it begins…

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. But finally got around to doing it.