Confessions Of A Sex Worker

Thought Catalog

I believe in objectification. Meaning, I believe it’s a part of the human experience. Most of us are sexual creatures. Most of us are visually oriented to various degrees. We look. I look. My working-class desert town is a feast of cute women rocking inexpensive clothes with the kind of authentically cultivated style most fashion week models could only dream of, and lean men in Wranglers and weathered shirts who carry their bodies with a grace learned from never ending shifts on oil rigs. I see them. A lot of times, I want them. It’s a part of the human system, this desire towards what we find beautiful or compelling, and in those moments of looking it is an objectification. We know nothing of the desired in a personal way. They are a canvas, a thing, a literal object.

When I stare at a roughneck, he has no girlfriend, no…

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