It was Sunday night. I had been blowing off my boyfriend all day, avoiding FaceTime calls and being rude whenever I did decide to answer. Against my wishes, he came over later that night to check in. I was the worst version of myself.
“Why are you in this mood?” he asked. “I don’t understand you.”
I could tell he was trying to help, which only upsets me more.
“I have no idea, I think my meds stopped working,” I said.
I didn’t know if this was true or not, but blaming my medicine is always easier than admitting that I may just be a complete bitch.
“We haven’t had sex in like a week,” he said. “You’re being insufferable. This is always how you get when you work too much.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I have this awful habit of shutting him out on weeks I know I’m working a lot. It’s probably a defense mechanism to detach myself from him so I can, you know, fuck other people for money … but that’s a conversation for my therapist.
Lately, we’ve been arguing more, and on most days, I don’t even remember what the arguments are about. I was certain the night was going to end with us feeling indifferent and sleeping in our own beds. It was a relief.
As we were about to say goodbye, my phone lit up, almost as if the universe wasn’t letting me run away from dealing with whatever emotions I was trying to avoid. It was an email from my agent with my call sheet for the next day.
I still hadn’t told my boyfriend I was working then, because it was a last minute scene that I got booked for just hours ago.
He saw my face and knew I was looking at a call sheet. Whenever I’m doing something porn related on my phone, he can always tell. I don’t know what subtle movements my face or body makes, but whatever it is, he sees it.
“Do you work tomorrow?” he asked.
I took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
“With who?”
This is the worst part. Who I’m working with will dictate his response. Some performers he knows I love working with, and in his eyes (and mine), it’s no longer work. It’s play. I do the same inhale-exhale-bite my lip routine and mumble out the name of one of my favorite performers. “Great, so I get this shitty, annoying, awful version of you, but you’ll be fine tomorrow!” he said. “You’ll wake up, go to work and everyone will get happy little Vanessa, while I get this!”
He stormed out. Again, he wasn’t wrong. I’d wake up the next day and be excited for work, and everyone would get happy, cheery Vanessa and I’d make a hell of a scene and he had to deal with all my bullshit. I stayed on my couch, still numb. I read my call sheet and tried to forget about what just happened. A small tear ran down my face as I started to pack my wardrobe.
No relationship is perfect. I’d be lying if I said any of mine were even close. And being a sex worker only makes navigating relationships ever more complicated.
So, what makes me qualified to give any advice on dating? Well, nothing, really. But over the years, I have learned some very valuable information about what has worked for me. So here is my truth about dating, as we performers so pretentiously call them, “civilians.”
1. Respect their boundaries, even if you don’t understand them.
He wouldn’t walk my dog for me when I was at work. I didn’t and still don’t fucking understand it. Dobbie didn’t understand it, but we respected it. This one is important, because it also works the other way around. They need to respect your boundaries as well, even if they don’t understand them.
2. Keep them in the loop.
Sometimes, this industry can seem like a whole different world to them. The more you make them feel like they’re a part of it, the more they can understand and accept it.
3. Affection goes a long way.
The day before a scene, be a little more affectionate, loving and sexual. Be understanding that someone else gets to have your body and heart momentarily, and that’s really not easy on them. A little affection (or anal!) goes a long way.
The next day, before my scene, as I sat in hair and makeup, my phone lit up.
“Hey babe, sorry about last night. Don’t stress about it and just focus on having a great scene. Love you.”
I smiled and texted him back.
“Thanks. I’m sorry too. Love you.”
We even got dinner later that night and had the lovey-dovey sex that I always crave after a scene. I guess we got some things right. I guess I’m kind of qualified.
Bonus tip: Don’t let them know when you’re writing articles about them, especially when they promised they’d come over later and dick you down. You know?
If you want tips and articles from me, check out TheLuckySlut.com for more!
