Some days I look at my PhD and my current work and marvel at how completely bizarre my life trajectory has been. There's something almost comically surreal about defending a complex theoretical dissertation on social structures while simultaneously knowing exactly how to make a middle-aged businessman from Manchester feel momentarily seen and desired.
My academic training - all those hours parsing complex sociological frameworks - turns out to be weirdly useful in sex work. Reading people. Understanding power dynamics. Navigating unspoken social contracts. I can spot a client's underlying needs about three sentences into our initial conversation. It's not magic. It's just careful observation.
The cognitive dissonance never really goes away. One afternoon I'm discussing Foucault's theories of discipline and surveillance, the next I'm ensuring a client feels safe and respected in an entirely different kind of intimate exchange. Sometimes I wonder if my dissertation committee would find this hilarious or horrifying.
I'm not interested in grand statements about sex work. I'm just living my life, paying my bills, using the skills I've spent years developing. Academic or otherwise.