Being a mom doesn’t mean you have to fit into a box. I’m a mother of two, I pack lunches, help with homework, and tuck my kids in at night. I also work as a sex worker. Not because I have to, not because I’m trapped, but because it’s the job that lets me provide for my family on my own terms. People assume the two roles can’t coexist. They’re wrong.
There are days I drive my daughter to school, then head to an outcall massage appointment in Dubai. It’s not about fantasy or pleasure for clients-it’s about boundaries, consent, and professionalism. I’ve learned to separate the work from the person. The woman who gives a warm hug to her child is the same woman who sets clear limits with clients. One doesn’t erase the other.
Why I Chose This Work
I didn’t wake up one day and decide to become a sex worker. It was a slow realization, born out of necessity and then shaped by control. After my divorce, I was the sole provider. I tried temp jobs, retail, cleaning offices-anything that paid hourly. But the hours were unpredictable, the pay was low, and I was always exhausted. When I started doing outcall massage work, I saw something different: flexibility, autonomy, and real income. I could be home for dinner. I could take a day off when my son was sick. I could set my own rates and choose who I worked with.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But it’s honest work. I don’t sell my body-I sell my time, my presence, my emotional labor. And I’m paid well for it. Most clients aren’t looking for something wild. They’re lonely. They’re stressed. They want to be heard, held, or just relaxed. That’s where sexual massage comes in-not as a euphemism for sex, but as a term that describes a specific service: therapeutic touch with clear consent and boundaries.
The Double Life
No one at my kids’ school knows. I don’t tell them. I don’t tell my parents. I don’t tell my neighbors. I don’t need their approval. But I do need their silence. I’ve learned to live with the fear-of judgment, of exposure, of losing custody. I’ve read stories of mothers who lost their kids because someone found out. I’ve seen the headlines. I don’t take chances.
I keep my work life completely separate. I use a different phone. I pay taxes under a business name. I never bring work home. I don’t wear anything from my job around the house. I don’t talk about it. My kids think I’m a freelance wellness consultant. That’s enough. They don’t need to know the details. And I won’t force them to carry this weight.
My Clients Are Not Monsters
Most people imagine clients as creepy, desperate men. Some are. But most are regular people-teachers, mechanics, nurses, retired soldiers. A man came to me last week after his wife passed away. He didn’t want sex. He just wanted someone to sit with him while he cried. I didn’t charge him. Another client is a nurse who works triple shifts. She says my sessions are the only time she feels human again. These aren’t fantasies. These are lives.
That’s why I don’t do random walk-ins. I screen everyone. I use a trusted platform. I keep records. I have a panic button. I’ve turned down more people than I’ve accepted. Safety isn’t optional. It’s the foundation.
The Myth of the ‘Tragic Sex Worker’
Media loves stories about women who were ‘forced’ into sex work. It’s dramatic. It’s sad. It’s often untrue. Many of us chose this path because it works. We’re not victims. We’re not broken. We’re mothers, artists, students, engineers. I know women who run their own agencies. I know women who earn more than their husbands. I know women who pay for their kids’ college with this work.
When people say, ‘You could do something better,’ I ask: what’s better? A job that pays less, gives you less control, and makes you feel invisible? My job gives me dignity. It lets me be present. It lets me say no.
How I Explain It to My Kids
My daughter is nine. She’s smart. She asks questions. One day, she came home from school and said, ‘Mom, my teacher said some moms work in places where people pay them to be nice.’ I didn’t panic. I didn’t lie. I said, ‘Sometimes, people pay for comfort. Just like you pay for a haircut or a piano lesson. I help people feel calm and safe.’ She nodded and went back to drawing. That’s all she needed to know.
I don’t sugarcoat. I don’t overshare. I answer what’s age-appropriate. My son, who’s six, doesn’t ask yet. When he does, I’ll tell him the truth-not because I’m proud of the stigma, but because I’m proud of how I’ve built a life that works for us.
What No One Tells You
People think sex work is about sex. It’s not. It’s about emotional labor. It’s about reading someone’s silence. It’s about knowing when to hold a hand and when to step back. It’s about boundaries that are clear, respected, and enforced.
I’ve had clients who cried. I’ve had clients who apologized. I’ve had clients who sent me thank-you notes. I’ve had clients who never spoke. All of them paid. All of them left with a little less weight on their shoulders. And so did I.
And yes, I’ve had bad days. I’ve had clients who crossed lines. I’ve had nights I came home shaking. But I’ve also had nights I walked into my house, smelled dinner cooking, and heard my daughter laugh. That’s what keeps me going.
Changing the Narrative
I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t want to be a symbol. I just want to be seen as a person who does a job-and does it well. I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking for recognition.
Sex work is work. And moms who do it? They’re not exceptions. They’re examples. Examples of resilience. Of intelligence. Of love.
If you’re a mom and you’re doing something society doesn’t understand? You’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not wrong. You’re just doing what you have to do to keep your family safe, fed, and loved.
And if you’re reading this and you’re judging? Maybe ask yourself why. Is it the job? Or is it the fear that someone like me might make you question everything you thought you knew about motherhood, morality, and money?
I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your applause. I just need you to stop assuming you know my story.
My name is not Nancy. I don’t work at nancy spa dubai. But if I did? I’d still be the same woman who kisses her kids goodnight.
