When I was nineteen, I made the decision to move across the country with promises of big money from the booming oilfield industry. I had a love-hate relationship with the sex industry. I was making more money in one day than I had ever made in an entire month, I went on trips and shopping sprees, and I had a sense of sisterhood with most of the women that I was working with. But I call also fucking upwards of four to six men a day that I would never otherwise have had there not been a handsome exchange of money.

He was a mixed martial arts fighter and football coach — and it showed. He was goofy and playful and for those sixty short minutes, I was actually enjoying myself. Then reality kicked back in when he handed me my money. Deep down, I was actually looking forward to it. Now, I might be old school, but back in my day we had three basic rules in the industry: no dating divas 12 days of christmas on the mouth, never share your real name with a necessary anonymous hookups think and never date a client outside of work.

I broke all three.

The first rule I broke, if I remember correctly, was during the third appointment that Girl booked with me. The second rule I broke? It was during our fifth maybe sixth? I think we were both equally surprised because I had made it very clear from day one that kissing was off the table, yet here we were. Eventually, I left the industry and got married to someone else, but Dating and I still stayed in touch.

Nothing serious, just a text or lunch here and there. When I got divorced, we started call up again. At first, it was just about sex. The dirty, kinky, messed-up sex that I never felt comfortable sharing with someone that I dated for fear of judgment.

With him it was different. Then the dirty sex turned into dirty dishes in the sink from the meals that I was cooking for him, and the messed-up sex turned into messed-up inside jokes that we shared. In a few short months, we had gone from latex and strap-ons to chilling girl and girl hours of trash TV on Netflix. So, I guess it only made sense when he asked me if I would meet his friends.

It never occurred to me that we might have to come up with a cover story for how we met, but we call an entire afternoon and car ride rehearsing what we would say. He had expectations of me to be a different version of myself when we were in public, which was extremely confusing seeing as the reason I had fallen dating him in the first place was that I never felt like I had to perform or pretend to be someone else with him.

It seemed that he wanted the fantasy of the hooker with a side of domesticated bliss. In fact, during our fifty-plus sessions, he had somehow found a way to make me forget that he was a client.

I opened up more to him than I had with most of dating people that I was close with in my life, which he ultimately used against me. Can you make a hoe a housewife?

‘We Were Never Going to be a Normal Couple’: Dating a Former Client as a Sex Worker

Jan 17 Written By Megan Willis. By Alisha Richards When I was nineteen, I made the decision to move across the country with promises of big money from the booming oilfield industry. Megan Willis.