TALES FROM THE cliRYPt VOL I

Crypt.. clit.. anyone around my age and older will get that and hopefully appreciate my shocking attempt at making a sex pun out of anything. I'll think of a better title maybe. Maybe.

Tales of sexwork horror anyway. I like writing about the weird behind the scenes shit that most people will never know about. I probably know a few dark stories, but to kick off I'm going to write about perhaps one of the most embarrassing things that has happened to me, in and out of sexwork.

A word of warning to some maybe; I can finally look back and cringe/laugh at the situation. Mostly cringe, but a lot of me doesn't give a fuck anymore.

It was when I lived in London, and I had a biggg money escort client. And I was on my stupid period. I did definitely not want to cancel this guy, so I went online to see what other sexworkers do in this situation. I found a few people bigging up the natural sponge thing, so on my lunch break from my normal job at the time, I went down to Boots to buy myself a natural sponge. Those weird things that apparently come from the sea and are better than shower puffs.

That night I got my sponge and cut it into pieces, like all the online forums said. The idea is you stick this bit of sponge up yous, it collects blood with no leaks, but the punter has no idea you're even on. So I do all this, the meet goes fine, I'm in the money and I'm home.

One problem though. I can't, for the life of me, get this fucking sponge out of me. I tried for so fucking long. I tried putting tiny tweezers up there, which didn't feel great. The worst thing was that I could always feel it, but could never quite get a good enough hold to pull it out. After so long, you realise you need help with certain things. Since this is not the kinda volunteering people queue up to do, I had to get my arse on a bus, to A+E. Accident and Emergency.

The waiting room was obviously so busy. The reception was inexplicably right in the middle of the chaos, where they have the kind of glass you need to shout through. I stage-whispered that 'my problem is quite private, I can't tell you what's wrong in the middle of this waiting room.'

So I get pulled off to the side, really not discretely, by some dude with a clipboard, where I stammer out I have a tampon stuck inside me. Because a tampon is so less weird, and I figure I can explain when I get my own cubicle.

I wait a million hours (this is A+E in London) and I'm finally seen by someone. I explain the situation to the lovely male doctor, who leaves to go get a lovely female nurse; they are both probably overworked and underpaid cos of idiots like me. I leave out the sexwork stuff and say I was looking for a 'natural' alternative to tampons – this is before mooncup and shit like that got big. Although because of this whole thing, it's pads and tampons from now on, sorryyy worlldd.

Well: a speculum, a big pair of tweezers, and a nurse who's seen it all later, my vagina is finally free. I wish tipping people who work in the NHS was a thing, they really deserve it.

This is such a common trick for sexworkers who are on their period (tbh I haven't really done any research at all on slightly more modern alternatives), but for me it was and still is a big HELL NO.

Sorry if this grossed some people out, but, good? S'not all fun and games yano ;)

(Totally ripped from google images: I searched vagina cave and this came up - Ladies n Gents: The Womb Cave in Bulgaria)