Your experiences parallel my own, a little. I used sex work to tide me over in 1990 when I first arrived in NYC. I too feared I would have to go "home," tail between my legs.

I felt no moral compunctions, but my self esteem also took a blow. We didn't have the Internet then for assignations, so a few nights a week I slipped into a toney Upper East Side bar with a certain reputation.

Everything was quite apparently respectable, except that the well dressed, glib young men in attendance were there to do business with well dressed, glib older men.

I soon learned that appearances are often deceptive. The whores I counted myself among were not often treated (or viewed) with the respect that surface layers reflected.

I was never tempted to stay in that life, but I have written about it. Few people want to hear, though, or at least that's my perception.

The whore's first-person voice is not very welcome unless it's funny or one-dimensional.

So thank you for sharing your voice!