MYL!FE the Mistress, the Sex Worker

September 21, 2019 - 5 minutes read

Driving back from the brothel my dungeon is located in and I’m looking at a car with the license plates “MYL1FE”. There’s nothing worse than an arsehole with plates that makes the big statement, demands an affirmation or declares someone knows their place in life so why don’t you? What is ‘MYL!FE’?

I am a sex worker in my 24th year of service to the movement and I call it a movement because that’s what the profession demands. Being a sex worker means every minute of every day we must resist, try an undo and effect change because we are stigmatised and traumatised by ourselves and the rest of humanity. We are hunted, regulated, criminalised and discriminated against. Go to the police to report a sexual assault and we’re told “if you don’t like being raped then get out of the job”, or “you’re a whore. What do you expect?”, or the one that really burns, “It’s just like someone going to a seafood restaurant for dinner and then not paying the bill. It’s just shop lifting so why are you causing a fuss”? Somehow being told you’re physical, emotional and mental health is on par with a cheap fish and chip dinner is soul destroying.

The sex industry and everyone who operates in it as a result of societies stand don’t operate in reality. We are not welcome, supported or understood. We stand alone. I’m retired from giving a shit and mainly focus on trying not to let MYL1FE kill me.

Sex workers will often say they are more than their occupation. They are mothers, sisters, aunties, uncles, friends, husbands, wives and any other label you can think to attach. I am not. I am not a mother and this was never my choice. I have a sibling, yet I’m not a sister. My sister disavows all knowledge of me in case Pauline Hanson disavows her political membership due to my sex worker status. As a spinoff of her fear and distaste, I am not an aunty either.  I try not to be a daughter to avoid having to watch my mother die a little more each time she speaks to me. I stood over my fathers’ freshly vacated body with his wife giving me an account of the last 5 days of his life in 20-minute increments. I was not allowed to see him until he was dead because the whore’s presence is too upsetting in life, however they needed someone who had enough control of themselves to deal with the assorted duties that come with death. I am essentially only welcome in my blood relatives lives as a death facilitator. When someone dies, I’m called in. I’ve had an unfortunate habit of only falling in love with sociopaths and psychopaths so I have most definitely never been a wife.

Pretty much my entire identity is that of sex worker but it is not a choice I made for MYL1FE . I am a whore and yet I’m not because sex workers are so disenfranchised, we do not register as being alive for the most part let alone considered important enough to society to have a label or identity. Our human rights are wholly denied because we are not seen as part of humanity. Recently when a sex worker was murdered society and the media celebrated the milk crate heroes who subdued the murderer but there was barely a mention of the beautiful young woman lost. We are disavowed in life and in death unless in death we serve a purpose to the sanctioned living.

We’re alive and very much not alive.

Do you see us? Should this be MYL1FE ? Should this be the life of ANY sex worker?

*Note: “whore” is used as a reclaimed word by sex workers. If you are not a sex worker don’t use it.

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