Commercial sex

Some hard-won lessons about lying, value, and the different games men and women play at the juncture of sex and money.

In my moments of greatest pain, what I want isn’t sex — it’s sex I’m paying for. What the fuck is that about?

Among the dozens of women I encountered, what struck me most was the enormous variety — and what that taught me about sex work as a category, not a thing.

It wasn’t the sex I was addicted to — it was the endless, shimmering promise of it, glowing on screen after screen.

What if what I’ve always understood as infinite desire is actually infinite fear?

When you’re paying, you can never quite know what’s real — and neither, it turns out, can she.

Yes, it was prostitution. I just don’t find that word particularly useful.

I didn’t haggle. I said no.

More on the quest for a mutually beneficial arrangement — and a friend’s surprising cameo.

How trust builds, one flaked plan and one awkward drink at a time, when you’re paying for companionship.