There are two brothels in my town (Donna's and Bella's), and I've worked at both. It's true that I got into legal prostitution out of desperation, but not like, "starving on the street" desperation. Long story short: Single mom, two kids, owed lots in attorney's fees due to a long custody dispute. No other job would let me make the kind of money I needed to get out of that hole. Now, even though we're literally living there, we're not employed by the brothel -- we're considered independent contractors. So I will come and do a stretch for a few months, then go back home -- like an oil rig worker going to work on some remote site for a few months, because the pay makes it worth it. Make your own "drilling" joke here.
Don't be nervous. Here's some imagery to help.
I didn't run into real hostility until I went to get registered as a prostitute (yup, that's a thing) in the city of Wells. I went in, and the receptionist at City Hall was literally looking down her nose at me (I'd always assumed it was just an expression before then). Later, I quit working at the brothel in lieu of a rather lucrative job at the bar. I was happy there, but I had to leave that job because so many wives complained about a hooker working there, even though I was a former hooker. As we'll find out shortly, people don't think of a "prostitute" as something you do, but something you are. And what you are is something dangerous.
wasan gredpree/iStock/Getty Images
"Watch out, that gun's got a prostitute!"