Let me say this clearly:
Companionship is work.
And it’s valuable.
It’s not “just sex.”
It’s not a flat, empty service.
It’s not about pretending to care until the clock runs out.
It’s presence. It’s timing.
It’s knowing how to read someone before they speak.
I’ve spent years learning how to adapt, how to listen, how to lead.
No two appointments are the same. That’s the point.
One client wants laughter. One needs quiet. Another doesn’t know what he needs until halfway through dinner.
And it’s my job to keep up—to offer something that fits the moment, not a script.
That takes effort, patience, and experience.
And it deserves respect.
I love being a companion. The freedom, the variety, the honesty that sometimes comes when two strangers agree to meet without pretending they want something else.
But I’m not here to sugarcoat it.
This is still a job. I have admin. I pay taxes. I do my own marketing. I check in with myself constantly to make sure I haven’t blurred the line between work and home.
And I get tired. Especially when clients bring more than they booked for—grief, guilt, shame, silence they expect me to fill.
I’m not a machine. I feel it all. But I don’t regret this path - I’ve seen the impact.
I’ve been told I was the reason someone finally started therapy.
That they picked up the phone and apologised to a parent.
That after spending time with me, they started exercising—not for looks, but because they felt more alive.
That their confidence came back. That they found the courage to ask for what they want in bed. That their friends noticed they’d changed.
That matters.
And I’m proud of it.
This work can be soft. It can be intense. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s serious. But when it’s good, it stays with you.
People love to talk about “the oldest profession", but they leave out what that really means.
We’ve always been here—adapting, surviving, holding things together behind closed doors.
We know how people work. We see it all. We build something useful from it.
Sex workers are some of the smartest, most emotionally aware, business-minded people I know.
We run things. Quietly. Effectively.
So no, I’m not “available.” I’m not “playing a role.”
I’m doing something real.
If that makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why.
Because I belong here.
We all do.
And I’m not going anywhere.