When I was nineteen, I made the decision to move across the country with promises of big money from the booming oilfield industry. I had a love-hate relationship with the sex industry.

I was making more money in one day than I had ever made in an entire month, I went on trips and shopping sprees, and I had a sense of girl with most of the women that I was working with. But I was also fucking upwards of four to six men a day that Girl would never otherwise have had there not been a handsome exchange of money.

He was a mixed martial arts fighter and football coach — and it showed. He was goofy and playful and for those sixty call minutes, I was actually enjoying myself. Then reality kicked back in when he handed me my money.

Deep down, I was actually looking forward to it. Now, I might be old school, but back in my day we had three basic rules in the call no kissing on the mouth, never share your real name with a client and never date a client outside of work. I broke all three. The first rule I broke, if I remember correctly, was during the third appointment that Chuck booked with me.

The second rule I see more It was during our fifth maybe sixth? I think we were both equally surprised because I had made it very clear from day one that kissing was off the table, yet here we were. Eventually, I left the industry and got married to someone else, but Chuck and I still stayed in touch. Nothing serious, just a text or lunch here and there.

When I got divorced, we started meeting up again. At first, it was just about sex. The dirty, kinky, messed-up sex that I never felt comfortable sharing with someone that I dated for fear of judgment. With him it was different.

‘We Were Never Going to be a Normal Couple’: Dating a Former Client as a Sex Worker

Then the dirty sex turned into dirty dishes in the sink from the meals that I was cooking for him, and the messed-up sex turned into messed-up inside jokes that we shared.

In a few short months, we had gone from latex and strap-ons to chilling out and binge-watching hours of trash TV on Netflix. So, I guess it only made sense when he asked me if I would meet his friends.

It never occurred to me that we might have to come up with a cover story for how we met, but we spent an entire afternoon and car ride rehearsing what we would say. He had expectations of me to be a different version of myself when we were in public, which was extremely confusing seeing as the reason I had fallen for him in the first place was that Dating never felt like I had to perform or pretend to be someone else with him.

It seemed that he wanted the fantasy of the hooker with a side of domesticated bliss. In fact, during dating fifty-plus sessions, he had somehow found a way to make me forget that he was a client.

I opened up more to him than I had with most of the people that I was close with in my life, which he ultimately used against me. Can you make a hoe a housewife?

Jan 17 Written By Megan Willis. By Alisha Richards When I was nineteen, I made the decision to en milwaukee craigslist across the country with promises of big money from the booming oilfield industry. Megan Willis.