Becoming Mary

By Mary Magdalene

Breaking down systems of oppression has to allow space for reappropriation. Reclaiming derogatory speech and utilizing it in such a way that places the power back into the hands of the marginalized minority. One of these words is whore. I count myself lucky to be a whore! I am not ashamed or embarrassed. Although I have retired from the full-service sex work industry, once a whore always a whore.  These words cannot be used lightly, they are heavy with history. Their power inherently lies in shifting the meaning from its intended destructive purposes, towards empowering those belonging to the community. Meaning if you do not belong to the community, you do not have the right to use the word. I will now say it again, I am a whore! And if you are not, you need to keep my name out of your mouth.

I ended up in this career the same way I imagine numerous people who sell sex do. Ironically and as a way to survive. Ironically because the pandemic saw a huge shift in sex work moving from the streets and private dates to digital platforms such as OnlyFans which boomed during the pandemic. I have always chosen to go against the grain so doing the opposite of what millions of others were doing held appeal. An act of survival because during the COVID pandemic I found myself as a newly single mom, balancing a part time job and a full time college degree program. My state shut down a second time and my part time job barely paid the bills, unemployment certainly did not. With plenty of fear, trepidation and a shit ton of self doubt I met my first client. I was able to utilize the internet in such a way that I felt okay about him as long as it could be in a public area. Before coming to an agreement we spent some time talking. Not only did I focus on the meaning of his words but I was able to pay attention to his non verbal cues, this helped put me at ease, and was a privilege that I acknowledged I had over those who work on the streets. His desires seemed easy enough, an hour of my time for $19 less than my weekly unemployment check, which again was another component of my privilege.

I had been spoon fed garbage rhetoric my entire life: sex work is disgusting and shameful, and I worked hard to shove the whore hating right where it belongs. Six feet down. I replaced it with a hard cock in my throat. Thirty-seven seconds later I was wiping cum off my face and drying the tears from my eyes. He asked to “cuddle” afterwards. I focused really hard on relaxing my body and not tensing up in disgust. Closing my eyes I mentally made my grocery list and accepted how much this would help me survive a broken system. Occasionally I allowed a

feigned sigh of contentment to escape my lips. Going so far as to pretend I cared about what he had to say. Utilizing hiding my bare right foot behind my left so that I could squeeze my toes shut. A habit that still helps me to get through till this very day, any situation where I feel afraid, anxious or angry. When our time was up, he thanked me in words and crisp $100 bills. My drive home was silent, sometimes dissociating requires silence that almost deafens.

Sneaking back to the safety of my bedroom, I turned the shower on as hot as it would go, lying at the bottom in the fetal position while the water went from scalding to ice. Fresh tears began to fall, disappearing down the drain along with the cleansing water and hopefully my previously held beliefs about this newfound work. Fucking capitalism! It was then I realized claiming my power in this career would take more than lip service. It would take destroying the patriarchal norms and beliefs deeply ingrained inside of me. The misogyny that I had ingrained internally. The very norms and beliefs that had guided everything I had done in my life. I turned first to my most respected professor, only to discover they were an anti-sex work feminist.  I turned to google, where I was able to seek solace in long abandoned blogs. A memory of my father flooded my brain. “Prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, and shouldn’t be criminalized,” he had said. This conversation as well as the words of hope written by whores before me motivated me to dig deeper.

Dismantling the system of sex worker oppression is not a job for the weak natured. It is built on the backs of workers before, workers present and workers in the future. Trans women. Women of color. Working poor. Men. He’s, she’s and they’s. Directly and indirectly choosing to make sex work their attempt at surviving capitalism. It takes community building, mutual aid and a clear framework for praxis. I kept reading and researching. I practiced new forms of self-care. I journaled, created art in addition to shifting my mindset and changing my beliefs. This work began granting me the ability and power to buy my children clothing and shoes right when they needed it.  Through this work, I not only found a way to survive, but I also discovered the way back home to myself.