Trade

I was flirting with a hairdresser on Grindr recently.

Well, that’s not WHY I was flirting with him. I originally messaged him because he was posing in some lovely pants, but when we got chatting and I have to admit I did flirt a little bit more when I found out what he did for a job, just because it never hurts to try and get a discount. I have quite a basic haircut, so I used to try and do it myself, because it seemed stupid to pay someone else and besides, HOW HARD CAN IT BE? The answer to that question can be seen by looking at any of my hairstyles during lockdown. Anyone who has cut their own hair, assembled IKEA furniture, or tried to raise kids will agree: There is a reason we pay professionals to do the things. 

You know those videos you see occasionally where someone, almost always a young white man, whose entire life has been set to Easy Mode, will strut into a situation he has no experience of because he saw a trained professional do it online and thought “I could do that. Piece of piss.” and then ends up learning a painful, embarrassing and fucking hilarious lesson about hubris? Maybe I find them so fun because I see so much of my younger self in those situations, and it’s always good to remember any situation involving the phrase “HOW HARD CAN IT BE?” is never going to end well. There’s a joke about erections in there somewhere, but like someone who never trims their bush, I’ll let you find it for yourself.

I have, mostly, learned not to think like that, since I’ve worked as both a writer and a podcast producer, two jobs where EVERYONE thinks they can do better, but apparently when it came to cutting my hair, I’m an idiot. A ridiculously sexy, wonky-haired idiot. 

Thinking about haircuts, I used to have a housemate who would go to a ridiculously swish place every two weeks, to get make sure his hair always looked the same. Upwards of 80 quid a month, he’d spend. What a twat he was, God rest his soul.

Anyway. Flirting with a hairdresser to get a discount. The other reason I was so keen on doing this was that, at that point, I’d been unemployed for the best part of two years, and so a haircut was an expense I simply couldn’t afford. So, after lots of flirting and the odd cheeky pic, I popped round to his salon, as he finished his last customer for the day, and he did what he did best. Then we slipped downstairs to the hair-washing area, and I did what I do best. But apparently, he wasn’t interested in my three-hour presentation about Star Trek, so then I just noshed him off for a bit. Afterwards, as we were cleaning up and making sure none of his colleagues would have awkward questions in the morning, he told me there was no charge for the haircut.

I said I was flattered, and I didn’t realise my skills were that impressive, but good to know. “Oh, no - you’re fun to talk to. I would have done it for free anyway!” And I’m like “WHAT?? I wasted an extremely ok blowjob when I could have got my hair did for free??” But, to be honest, he was cute and I would have blown him without the offer of a haircut, so I suppose it all equals out. 

And I think I speak for all of us when I say we’ve all done worse for less. 

And he did a good job, so should be rewarded for his work. If that reward is an aggressively mediocre gobjob next to the hairdryer, then so be it. 

I did wonder on the walk home, as I bought a diet coke on the way home to cleanse my palette, does this make me a sex worker? I used to be quite stuck up about that sort of thing.

When I first moved to London, I was a massive hippy and worked as a professional masseur. Actually, when I FIRST moved to London as a massive hippy, I worked in a shop selling crystals because of course I did. But I only did that for a couple of weeks before I got fired for being annoying, so never mind. A customer asked me once “Which crystal is best for removing negative people from my life?” and apparently “Any, if you throw it hard enough” wasn’t the answer she was looking for. But then I shouldn’t have expected someone in a crystal shop to be bothered about science. 

Anyway. After the crystal shop, I got a job working as a masseur in Soho. When I told people this, everyone’s first thought was always “Ooooh, did you give happy endings?” and I would get offended and annoyed because I was a PROFESSIONAL, and TOOK MY JOB SERIOUSLY, and was also A GREAT BIG LIAR because of course I was giving any cute guys who were up for it a sticky tickle. Mostly my clientele was stressed female office workers, so there weren’t THAT many opportunities, but it was always a fun thing to look forward to when it did.

I explained all of this to a friend of mine recently and he was like “Gay gasp! You were a whore!” and I thought about it, and explained that no, I wasn’t a whore, as I never charged extra for the happy endings. There was a pause while he thought about this for a moment and then said “So… You were a stupid whore?” and honestly, I can’t fault his logic. 

Like Heath Ledger’s Joker said, “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.” And I… probably shouldn’t charge much.

It’s been a good 10 years or so since I worked there, and I’m pleased to see my thinking has evolved significantly in that time. I’m a lot less judgy about that sort of thing. Doing it for free was, to my younger, stupider brain, ‘better’ than doing exactly the same thing and being given money for it. Which, now, as someone who has bills to pay, seems just as stupid as trying to cut my own hair. 

Having worked in a few public-facing jobs, I now have absolutely no desire to do so ever again, because people are awful. And all I had to do was answer phones or make them coffee or massage their shoulders. The thought of getting naked and letting them sweat all over me is just… ugh. No. Sex work is work, and the job deserves more respect and the people that do it deserve protection under the law. 

I remember my dad saying, on the occasion that he felt moved to offer an opinion about such things, “I’ve no problem wi’it. They should mek it legal and tax the buggers,, like they do everyone else.” I’m not sure why small businesses paying the right amount of tax was his main concern, but I learned long ago not to ask questions unless I was prepared to deal with the answers.

There’s even a sex workers’ union, which is fucking fantastic. I am all for that. Unions are great. Anyone who says otherwise does not have your best interests at heart. Seriously, if you can join a union, do it. Do it now. 

Anyway. Sex work is work. Anyone who’s like “Oh, I couldn’t sell my body! Morals! Etc!” First off, Stephanie, you’re not selling it. It’s closer to renting it. But also, sex work is selling your body, but doing a boring 9-5 in an office somewhere isn’t? Essentially in both cases, you’re swapping your time, a chunk of your limited existence, for a set amount of money, doing something you’d rather not do. And anyone who says “ooh, no, I’d still come to work if I won the lottery!” should probably spend some of that money on having their horizons broadened. No. All jobs, at their core, are the selling of a person’s time and skills for a set amount of money. And at least with sex work, you don’t have to worry about quarterly performance reviews, or remembering the boss’ birthday. AND you get a lie-in. 

As someone who is a bit on the ‘cash-poor’ side of things, I’m very ok with swapping my ‘skills’ for goods and services generally. 

Haircut? A quick beej when no-one’s looking.

Can’t afford groceries? Tickle the delivery guy’s fancy in the back of his van. Rock his world up against the salads.

Wifi bill is due? Send the technician round and I’ll give him a quick hand shandy to keep me connected. Throw in cable TV and I’ll stick a cheeky finger up his bum.

I’ve got a few friends who are sex-workers and porn stars, and they tell me it’s definitely work. Even if it’s all online, such as Onlyfans or with a porn studio, there’s a lot of work goes into making that sexy picture or video. And it’s never just one. These people are out there creating enough content to post a new picture every day, a new video every week, or whatever. It soon becomes a grind and just as much of a chore as any other job. And then there’s getting people to pay for it. The endless promotion and punching your content, and all of that. I say that as someone who has an Onlyfans that I really don’t update often enough. So, yeah, it’s hard work. At least as a sex worker, there’s more chance of an orgasm than there would be if you were working on the checkout in Tesco. 

I will definitely support any of my friends who want to try that particular career path. Paying to look at your friends' genitals instead of using those sits of a hub or tube persuasion to look at strangers is basically the same as choosing not to buy stuff from Amazon. Less potential for ethical abuse of the workers, and you’re supporting small businesses. Everyone’s a winner.

Personally, I think I’m probably more likely to stay on the sex work adjacent side of things. I just don’t think there’s enough demand to watch my hairy arse flopping around on top of someone for five disappointing minutes. I think I’m better off as an enthusiastic amateur. That way I’m still eligible for the olympics. 

Not so much a blowjob, more just a blow-hobby.

---

This week’s Patreon compliment goes to Jon Biggs, who is not only friendly and pleasant to any serving staff he encounters, but a generous tipper, also.

This podcast will ALWAYS be free to listen to, but sadly it is not free to make. If you like or find value in the loving filth that I work to create as often as I can, please consider supporting the show on Patreon. If everyone listening to this sent one money, whatever your local currency is, per episode, then I wouldn’t have to faff about with another job, and would be able to do this full-time. And working on this full-time is pretty much the dream. So, if you would like to help make that dream a reality, pop on over to Patreon and sign up. If not then simply recommending and sharing the show with your friends, writing 5-star reviews, and all those kinds of thing really help, too. Either way, I’ll talk to you again next week. Take care, be good, I love you.