So my old Yakuza friend Guro Kagaisha was in town to launder some money through the London property market. So we met up and went for a drink, and he said, “Hey Gaspar, remind me what it is you do again?”
“Well, Guro,” said I, “I’m a sex worker specialising in extreme breath play.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now, you’re a stranglewank hitman,” said he, not very politically correctly, I might add. “So, let me ask you this: do you guys actually give the target a handbeezy or just make it look like you did?”

I was seriously grumpy at that point. It is not my job to educate Guro or anybody, but on this one occasion I said, “buy me a treble Langley’s and a packet of sea salt and balsamic vinegar Kettle Chips and I shall consider doing the emotional labour for you”.

Anyway, as I said to Guro after he’d bought me the required compensation for my emotional labour: I do not “actually give the target a handbeezy”, no. Nor do I make it look as though I did. I choke the target to death, and then I make it look as though the target did it to himself/herself/xorself by accident during a sexual misadventure. The only sexual aspect to it is when I arrange the body post-mortem and put the corpse’s own hand down his/her/xer chinos.

“So,” said Guro, taking a sip of his whisky, “you don’t really do any sex shit then?”
“No, Guro, I do not really do any sex shit,” I sighed.
“So you’re not a sex worker, then, are you?”

Well, I had had just about enough of his gatekeeping, invalidating bullshit by then. How dare he challenge my status as a sex worker?

I AM a sex worker. Sure, I’m not actually selling sex or exposing myself in any way, but what I am selling is the fantasy of erotic asphyxiation. I sell that fantasy to the target’s contacts, and to the police. And that gives me an interest in the industry and the right to speak over people who don’t have inside knowledge about the industry (e.g. former sex workers, survivors, trafficking victims who aren’t involved in it any more and hence have no stake in the issue whatsoever, people still in the industry who don’t want to be there, and people who disagree with me about full legalisation of the sexual violence industry).

Anyway, fortunately, Guro is very good at self-crit. When he was a hitbaby and made a mistake on a job, he even cut off bits of his fingers as part of his self-critting for his boss! What a great ally! ^_^  So he said a big sorry to me and we hung around outside Bank-Monument station for a bit, where he bought me a few grams of coke as compensation for hurting my feelings and invalidating my identity.

So now we’re friends again! 🙂 We’re going to spend the rest of his visit buying houses, planning how to get revenge on Dmitry for poisoning me with polonium (even if it did result in my super edgy new trendsetting fashionqueering haircut), and I’ll introduce him to my pet pigs. Should be a nice relaxing week.