Lola Davina - Thriving in Sex Work: Heartfelt Advice for Staying Sane in the Sex Industry

Sex work is easy money? Hardly . The adult industry is riddled with pitfalls and dangers. Erotic labor is often emotionally demanding, draining, and complex. It can be hard to know who to turn to for advice on keeping yourself safe and sane. Lola Davina, former stripper, dominatrix, porn actress and escort, provides the life skills you need to prosper:

• Shattering myths, such as thinking you need the perfect body
• Creating financial freedom so you only work when you want to
• Avoiding bad behavior, bad decisions, and burnout
• Cultivating boundaries in an often insane industry
• Learning to love your work!

Thriving in sex work means having a healthy body, mind, heart, and bank account. No matter your job title or gender, whether youre independent or work for someone else, if you want to succeed in sex work, this book is for you.

THRIVING IN SEX WORK

Heartfelt Advice for Staying Sane in the Sex Industry

Lola Davina

The Erotic as Power Press
Oakland, California

Copyright 2017 by Lola Davina

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by:
The Erotic as Power Press LLC
248 3rd St. #646
Oakland, CA 94607

Cover design by Albert Ochosa | Sun Rising Media
Book design and layout by Rob Siders | 52 Novels
Copyedit by Felicia Gotthelf
Back cover author photo by Lisa Keating Photography

Note on front cover:
Images are stock photos posed by models, for illustrative purpose only.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Davina, Lola, 1968
Thriving in sex work / by Lola Davina
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-9988920-3-0 1. Sex work 2. Self-care

I dedicate this book to every sex worker Ive ever known,

the ones I havent met yet,

and those lost along the way.

The principal horror of any system which defines the good in terms of profit rather than in terms of human need is that it robs our work of its erotic value Such a system reduces work to a travesty of necessities, a duty by which we earn bread or oblivion for ourselves and those we love. But this is tantamount to blinding a painter and then telling her to improve her work, and to enjoy the act of painting. It is not only next to impossible, it is also profoundly cruel The erotic is the nurturer or nursemaid of all our deepest knowledge.

Audre Lorde from Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power

The sexual drive, essential for our species continuation, has been subverted into an agent of destruction by our own supposedly elevated moral principles. What should give the greatest pleasure has been turned into the source of the greatest pain.

Jonathan Khuner

When I was growing up in Detroit, my mother told me lots of things that later turned out not to be true. She told me only tramps get their ears pierced. That those men in Washington knew what they were doing or else they wouldnt be there. That what makes you happy makes me happy. That enough was enough.

Lily Tomlin

Hi, Sexy

Im so happy to see you here. If youre holding this book in your hands, Im guessing youre a sex worker. So am I. Let me tell you about my first call as a working girl.

San Francisco, January 17, 1991. Id been stripping at the Lusty Lady peepshow for about a year. Twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, I was a shapely, fair-skinned brunette cultivating a smart-and-sexy persona by wearing nerd glasses on stage. I was making great money, raising hell and riding high. Id done girl-on-girl shows with other dancers and a few professional domination sessions with a friend, but up to that point, the job felt removed, like a sexy game. Now it was about to get real.

That night, I was going to the home of a major politician, a bit of a Big Damned Deal, sent by a fellow Lusty who had been working for a madam for the past few years. This clientIll call him Jwas her regular and always eager to see new girls.

My friend prepped me as best she could: J was brusque, not a conversationalist. In fact, the more he talked, the less he liked you. Hell be all over you the minute you walk in the door, she warned, and he was energetic in bed. But she assured me if I told him I didnt like something, he would stop. All of this had me nervous enough without the kickerI was a birthday surprise from Js girlfriend, M, and she was going to be there, too.

I prepared like a bride on her wedding dayshowering, shaving, inspecting every inch of my body for flaws. I was sure Id show up and be rejected after one look. My mind spun out all kinds of crazy scenarios.

That evening, nothing went how Id imagined. J opened the door, a shaggy lion of a man wearing a bathrobe. M, a foxy, petite Latina, stood in flawless black lingerie, stockings, and high heels. They whisked me off to the bedroom, lit with dozens of candles, in exactly two seconds flat. I guess they liked me just fine.

The scene was alien yet familiar. Although I was terrified, I also felt exhilarated and fascinated. Instinct kicked in, and while I had never had such spontaneous and strenuous sex with two strangers before, I knew when to act, when to react, and how to shift the energy when it all got to be too much. So did M, apparently, because after about fifteen minutes, without saying a word, she got up and left the room. When she didnt return, it became clear she had left altogether. Um wow.

Nothing in my instinct kit had prepared me for that possibility. J, however, didnt blink. He kept at his sexy fun for a few minutes more, finished, and then we lay there in the post-coital glow. I asked about M. He just shruggedmaybe she got bored. We chatted a few minutes more, then, in the most gallant fashion, he paid me and threw me out.

I stepped out into the foggy San Francisco night holding two crisp one hundred dollar bills, my body tingling. I was mortified because somehow I had offended M, and J would never want to see me again. But no matter. Id crossed a line: I was a prostitute now. I knew I should feel bad, but for the life of me, I couldnt think why. Instead, I was on fire.

I had no way of knowing it then, but that night shaped the broad contours of the next fifteen years of my life. It turned out J liked me bunches, becoming my best client and remaining a friend to this day. I developed a loyal clientele. Earning stacks of bills would always be erotically charged, making me feel richer than my wildest dreams.

The Life gave me a life I loved: I earned the down payment for my first house as a call girl. I traveled to Machu Picchu, Angkor Wat, and Timbuktu on my ill-gotten gains. I earned my first masters degree on my own schedule and got my second masters without student loans. Along the way, I paid off more than one hundred thousand dollars in debt, and when I hung up my phone for the last time, I had six figures in the bank set aside for my retirement. Just like that first night, I never lost the feeling that prostitution was my calling. Although stigma placed me squarely outside the protections of polite society, I knew I was born for the work and never felt ashamed. I learned things I couldnt have learned any other way. I wouldnt trade those years for anything. However, it never came easy.