Whore Next Door: Capitol Records

by Siouxsie Q May 4, 2016

The first time I worked in an office was for Allstate Insurance as a glorified receptionist. I hated the stuffy work environment, the soft-rock radio, and especially the fact that my boss wouldn’t allow me to put a photo of my girlfriend on my desk. I knew it wasn’t the right fit, so I eventually quit and found my way to the sex industry.

As soon as I put on six-inch heels and made money naked, I knew that it was for me. I never intended to leave the industry because it has always felt like home. The friendships and community I forged while doing sex work are the truest and fiercest I have ever known. But I have also seen what a scarlet letter people can inherit once they cross the threshold into adult-oriented commerce. I’ve met people who have been disowned by their families, fired from their jobs, and even had their children taken away because of their current or former adult-industry careers.

For five years now, I have been a full-time freelancer living the millennial dream of making my own schedule and working from anywhere as a writer, media maker, and sex worker. It’s been a life of lingerie, latex, and loungewear — but last week all that changed. I found myself sitting in an office again, wearing a business-casual blazer, sipping Keurig brewed coffee, and frantically searching through my computer for a photo of myself where I’m not naked or making a face that says, “I bet you have a naughty secret.”