Hoe's Odes: If You're a Sex Worker, I Love You

There’s a quiet kind of courage it takes to show up every day when the world looks away. When people whisper your name like it’s something dirty, but you’re just trying to pay rent, eat, and keep your dignity intact. I’m not writing this to rescue you. I’m writing this because I see you. And if you’re a sex worker, I love you-not in the way people say it when they’re trying to sound noble, but in the way you love someone who’s still standing after being told they don’t deserve to be.

Some of you work in dimly lit rooms in cities where the law doesn’t protect you. Others do outcall massage in high-rises where no one asks for ID, and the only thing that matters is whether you’re on time and whether your hands know how to ease a body that’s been carrying too much weight for too long. I’ve heard stories from women who drive across town after a 12-hour shift to make it to their kid’s school play. I’ve read texts from people who cancel appointments because their mother’s in the hospital and they need to be there, not because they’re tired, but because they’re human.

You’re Not a Statistic

News outlets talk about sex work like it’s a problem to solve, not a life people live. They cite numbers: ‘30% of sex workers report violence.’ ‘Only 12% have access to healthcare.’ But behind every percentage is someone who remembers the exact shade of the carpet in the hotel room where they cried after a client yelled at them for not smiling enough. Someone who still keeps the receipt from the grocery store they bought with cash because it was the first time in months they felt proud of what they’d earned.

There’s no universal experience. Some work independently. Others are part of collectives. Some take clients who treat them like equals. Others deal with men who think paying gives them the right to demand more than a service. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you make your living. Not to your family. Not to the police. Not to the strangers who think they know what’s best for you because they saw a documentary on Netflix.

The Myth of the ‘Rescue’

People love to talk about ‘rescuing’ sex workers. They imagine themselves as heroes, swooping in with job training programs and shelters. But here’s the truth: most of us don’t want to be saved. We want to be left alone. We want to be paid fairly. We want to be treated like people who have choices-even if those choices were made under pressure.

When you push someone into a ‘better’ job without offering real support, you’re not helping. You’re just replacing one form of control with another. What we need isn’t rescue. It’s decriminalization. It’s housing. It’s healthcare that doesn’t judge. It’s the right to walk down the street without being stared at like we’re broken.

There are women in Bangkok who organize weekly meetings to share safety tips. There are people in Toronto who run peer-led hotlines. There are sex workers in Melbourne who teach each other how to screen clients using apps that don’t track their location. These aren’t charity projects. They’re survival networks built by people who know better than anyone else what’s needed.

Sexual Massage Is Not What You Think

Let’s be clear: sexual massage isn’t about sex. Not always. Not even mostly. It’s about touch. Human touch. The kind that doesn’t come with strings attached. The kind that says, ‘I see you’re tense. Let me help.’

Some clients come in with chronic pain from long hours at a desk. Others are veterans who haven’t felt safe in their own skin since they got home. A few are lonely men who’ve never learned how to hold someone without it turning into something transactional. The person giving the massage isn’t there to fulfill fantasy. They’re there to hold space-for pain, for silence, for the weight of a life that no one else wants to acknowledge.

And yes, some services include sexual activity. That’s not a flaw. It’s a choice. And when it’s consensual, safe, and paid for fairly, it’s no different than any other labor. You wouldn’t call a nurse ‘immoral’ for touching a patient. Why call us that for doing the same thing with different boundaries?

The Cost of Being Invisible

When you’re erased from public discourse, you’re erased from policy. That means no workplace protections. No sick leave. No legal recourse if you’re assaulted. No access to bank accounts because banks flag your income as ‘suspicious.’

I know a woman in Berlin who had her savings frozen because her bank flagged deposits from a client who paid in cash. She spent six months fighting them, only to be told, ‘We don’t know what kind of business this is.’

That’s the reality: your work is criminalized, your income is suspect, your body is policed, and your voice is ignored. And yet, you keep showing up. You keep doing the work. You keep sending money home. You keep laughing at bad jokes and crying in the shower when no one’s watching.

What You Deserve

You deserve to walk into a clinic without being judged. You deserve to file a police report without being asked what you were wearing. You deserve to open a bank account. You deserve to be called ‘Ms.’ instead of ‘lady.’ You deserve to have your children’s school records not flagged because your parent works in adult services.

You deserve to be believed when you say you’re safe. You deserve to be paid on time. You deserve to take a day off without guilt. You deserve to be loved-not for your work, but despite it. Not because you’re a victim, but because you’re human.

And if you’re reading this and you’re tired-tired of pretending you’re fine, tired of explaining yourself, tired of being told you’re not good enough-I see you. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to say: you’re not alone. And I love you.

Nancy Spa Dubai Is More Than a Name

There’s a place in Dubai called Nancy Spa Dubai. It’s not on tourist maps. It’s not advertised on billboards. But for some, it’s a refuge. A place where the rules are clear: no coercion. No tipping. No judgment. Just quiet professionalism. People go there not because they’re looking for something forbidden, but because they’re looking for something rare: respect.

It’s not a fantasy. It’s a model. One that proves that when sex work is treated like labor, not sin, people thrive.