Brothel Life: My Experience as a Trans Sex Worker
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I worked in brothels during the early 2000s, and some of my most memorable experiences came from that time. Financially, it was rewarding, there were weeks when the wallet was very healthy by the end of it. But beyond the money, what truly stood out was the sense of community.
For many of us, the sex industry was where we first met other trans women and built lasting friendships. It may sound cliché, but brothels became a meeting point for sisterhood. We shared similar journeys, navigating identity, safety, family rejection, transition costs, and the realities of surviving in a world that often misunderstood us. That shared experience created bonds that went far beyond the workplace.
I had an incredible run at Pleasure Dome in the early 2000s. Trans women were in high demand, and when we clocked in, we worked, sometimes back-to-back bookings. Clients walked through those doors willing to pay for a fantasy, and those of us who understood that this was both performance and business thrived. Presentation, attitude, hygiene, and professionalism mattered. The girls who treated it like a business generally did well.
However, like any competitive environment, there was a darker side.
Where there is high demand and good money, there can also be jealousy. I witnessed what I call the “jealousy girls”, workers who weren’t getting as many bookings and, instead of improving their approach or effort, resorted to gossip. Rumours would circulate: claims about unsafe practices, poor hygiene, or someone’s character. These kinds of allegations can be deeply damaging in our industry, where reputation is everything.
I can’t say for certain whether rumours were ever planted about me directly, but I did hear from other workers and even clients who approached me to “confirm” things they’d been told. That alone shows how toxic an environment can become when defamation replaces professionalism.
When gossip and competition override mutual respect, the workplace stops feeling safe. The energy shifts. Instead of camaraderie, there’s suspicion. Instead of empowerment, there’s anxiety. For some girls, the mental toll was heavy enough that they chose to leave brothel work entirely. No amount of money is worth feeling unsafe in your workplace.
Later, when I stepped into the role of a sex work advocate, I learned more about workplace rights and safety standards. Spreading false claims about a worker’s health or practices is not just petty, it can be legally actionable. Defamation harms someone’s livelihood and mental health. We deserve the same workplace protections as anyone else.
Despite the toxicity that sometimes surfaced, I don’t regret my brothel years. They shaped me. They strengthened me. They connected me to my trans sisters in ways that still matter today. The experience taught me not only how to survive in a competitive industry, but how important it is to protect your reputation, your mental health, and your peace.
Brothel life gave me community, financial independence, resilience, and a clear understanding that professionalism and solidarity must always outweigh jealousy.
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