I knew I was queer even before I was in high school. I think it wasn’t long after that that I knew I wanted to be a sex worker. Of course, I didn’t start doing sex work until after high school (just recently), but I had been exploring my queerness for a long time before that. I eagerly took advantage of every opportunity, but my real training began when I started working at an erotic massage parlor.
Erotic massage was a world apart from the outside world
No matter how bright the day was, it was always dark and quiet inside. The hallways ran to and fro; the air smelled of erotic massage oils, perfumes, and straightened hair. People sat in their underwear and bathrobes, combing their extensions or powdering their eyelids, waiting for men to approach them and give them money to put on full-body eyelids. It was like a dream, a dimly lit feminine wonderland. Of course, there was more to it than that. I enjoyed the wonderland part the most. Nowhere else can you feel like you’ve entered another world like you’re in a brothel? Our erotic massage consisted of touching; we touched each other casually. We sat between clients, legs entwined, on lumpy futon sofas. Many quiet nights were spent with my coworker sitting in my arms, stroking my hair. Erotic massages. Not all the touching was sexual; most of it wasn’t. They were just part of the bond that bound us together as coworkers, workers, and prostitutes.
I got my real education when I started working
Apparently, “erotic massages were one of the worst.” At school, I was teased, spat on, and threatened with violence. I wanted to say, “I’m not a lesbian, you idiots; I’m an erotic masseuse.” I was told, “If you want to bully me, tell me the facts,” but no one would have listened or cared about the nuances of my erotic massage.
But at the erotic massage parlor, I let everyone know I was gay. I wasn’t the only one. At the brothel, I could be myself, and it was one of the few places where I felt comfortable and accepted. I was super weird, and everyone there was a little odd. It was encouraging to meet other queer people like me. No one wants to feel like an erotic massage parlor, and even though there were a few gay people around me growing up, I always felt a little like an outsider. There were a lot of other gay people at the erotic massage parlor, guys from Los Angeles hiding their manly hairstyles with long blonde wigs and cute women whose girlfriends would pick them up on their motorbikes after their shifts were over.
