At the cusp of our teenage years, we discussed (in whispered voices) extravagant plots for escape. When the time was right, we’d run away together; no jobs, no savings, no regrets. Many years later, when that time finally came, we had long since gone our separate ways. I had left the suburbs of Pennsylvania to pursue what I hoped would be a fruitful academic career. He was a college dropout, pursuing a series of dead end jobs in what could best be described as a dead end town (the type of town that chews you up, spits you out, and leaves no survivors if you stick around too long). When pitted against the often harsh reality of circumstance, our small-town dreams seemed like childish delusions of grandeur.
It was no miracle, but a phenomenal leap of faith, that brought him back to my side. We aren’t children anymore, but the life we’ve begun to create for ourselves looks remarkably similar to our silly adolescent schemes.
He brings in a server’s wage at a small cafe with peaceable (but notoriously stingy) patrons. We pay rent, we cover bills, and we treat ourselves to a nice meal out here and there. I embrace a future of simple living, but as I prepare to enter my final year of college, I’m continually struck by the fact that even a “living wage” is barely enough to keep one’s head afloat.
Sex work has long been a point of conflict for me. On one hand, I am thankful, because I approach sex work from a place of privilege. By turning tricks to pay my way through college, the stakes are very different than if I were turning tricks to feed a family. I’ve turned to sex work not as a means to survive, but as a means to craft a more dynamic life for myself and my partner. It is true that love heals, but cohabitation has taught me that the financial humdrum of everyday life can really hurt.
My decision to more actively pursue sex work currently exists in a state of limbo. When I ask my partner to share his concerns honestly and without hesitation, the answer is always the same - “I want you to do what makes you happy.” While I honor his selflessness, I can’t bring myself to accept this sentiment. I spent too many years floundering in an attempt to discover what truly brought me happiness. My partner challenges me, humbles me, lifts me up, and enriches my life in a way I’d once believed only existed in dreams. When I chose to be with him, I willingly accepted that I was now one variable in a new equation.
Can I truly be happy if I sense my decision breeds discontent in my relationship? Though my partner claims to want only what will bring me happiness, will he change his mind when I return home long after he’s gone to bed? When I return home with the scent of another man’s cologne lingering on my clothing? Will he tell me how he really feels when I bring home more money in one evening than he makes in a week?
And how does this make me feel? Shouldn’t I be toiling by his side, working for a pittance to honor the American Dream? Shouldn’t I be leaving for work the minute he arrives home, so we can fall into bed, cranky and exhausted, at the end of a very long day?
I love my partner, and it is this love that has left me confused and uncertain। The financial security I’ve gained in a short period of time has allowed me that much more freedom, but at what cost? Though he doesn’t say it, I can see him cringe at the thought of touching me after I’ve been touched by countless others। I’ve tried to convince myself that my personal sanctity cannot be determined by how many men I fuck and for what price, but when I find myself unable to share the “whole” truth with my partner, I realize I’ve still got a ways to go.
by Bettina Faye,
check out her blog:
I Paid for College
