Before you had sex for the first time, who did you talk to about it? Your friends, probably. Your sister, maybe. Your parents… highly unlikely. Even light-hearted banter with mum on the, er, ins and outs of intimate relations is enough to make many of us squirm with embarrassment – even as adults.
But for people with disability, broaching this incredibly delicate subject with a parent, then asking that parent to find a sex worker for them, might be the only option for enjoying a sex life.
On a regular basis, sex worker Rachel Wotton will receive a phone call from someone booking her to be intimate with their adult child. The high-profile Sydney sex worker tells NEXT that “about half” of her clients have a disability.
Although there’s a large proportion of people with disability who will never have cause to see a sex worker, for some who’ve found dating is not an option, it’s the most appropriate avenue to experiencing sexual pleasure – and Wotton is committed to making sure that option is available to everyone, regardless of gender, sexual preference or physical condition.
In 2000, Wotton co-founded Touching Base, a not-for-profit organisation that helps men and women with disability, plus their parents and care workers, to connect with sex workers trained in ‘non-discriminatory services’. It also provides training to sex workers who want to provide better services for people with disability.
You may find the idea of sex workers and people with disability an uneasy grouping, but before you disregard Wotton and her colleagues’ work as distasteful or exploitative, consider what her clients think.
In Scarlet Road, the groundbreaking, heartfelt 2011 documentary that depicts Wotton’s mission to break down barriers to sexual expression for people with disability, some of her clients shared their stories. In one scene, wheelchair user John, who has multiple sclerosis, is having lunch with two mates at a beachside café when he casually mentions his “tremendous night of sex”.
“It made me feel normal,” he tells them.
It’s a statement that cuts right to the heart of what Touching Base strives for – it exists to give people with disability, for whom so many freedoms are curtailed, the ability to enjoy a sex life.
Then there’s Mark, who has cerebral palsy. He tells the camera, via his computerised voice machine: “It has been my dream to have a woman stay in my bed overnight.”
For his birthday, he saves up to pay for an evening with Wotton. They go out for lunch, visit the pub, then she sleeps over in his bed.
“Rachel makes me feel like I have a girlfriend,” says the monotone voice. “But I know she is a sex worker.”
The beginnings
If all this makes you feel uncomfortable, imagine the gut-clenching awkwardness suffered by people who want to experience sexual connection, but must rely on other people to help make that happen. Not to mention the extreme discomfort felt by their parents, who come from a generation that didn’t talk about sex, and may be grappling with religious doctrine.
They, too, are subject to judgement by others; Wotton says Mark’s mum was called a “dirty mother”.
“People don’t see people with disability as sexual human beings,” explains Wotton. “Some of my clients were 50 before they had any sensual touch.”
For privacy reasons, Wotton doesn’t want to reveal her age or location, but she will say she’s been in the industry for more than 20 years.
“I got into it when I was a uni student,” she says. “I was earning $10 an hour in a bottle shop. I was always fascinated by the sex industry but I’d only heard about the stereotypical high-class call girl who was 6ft 4, had beautiful expensive clothing and glamorous makeup – I was never that, and never will be – or street-based sex workers. My personal line was, I couldn’t get into a car; I didn’t realise there were safe houses where people would provide their services. A friend of mine confided in me she was in the industry and I asked all about it, and I was already fascinated by [it], so I started working at a sex services premises.”
It’s only natural
Wotton doesn’t remember her first client with disability, but says working with this sector was an organic process.
“In the early 2000s there were a lot of organisations contacting the sex worker organisation I was at, saying, ‘Do you have referrals to sex workers you trust or who are experienced with clients with disability?’ There were a lot of us already seeing clients with disability, and we wanted to bridge the gap and to open communication and dialogue. That’s how Touching Base started.”
During her interview with NEXT, Wotton returns repeatedly to the concept of sex as a means of healing.
Many people’s ideas about how she operates will likely be based on the 2012 film The Sessions, in which Helen Hunt plays a ‘sex surrogate’ who helps a 38-year-old man paralysed by polio to lose his virginity.
Wotton isn’t a fan of the film, in particular the “unprofessional” way Hunt’s character becomes emotionally involved with her client. But regardless of Wotton’s reservations, the film, for which Hunt received an Oscar nomination, did introduce audiences to the therapeutic value of sexual connection.
“What do you get out of sexual contact?” says Wotton pointedly. “Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s sexual relief, sometimes it’s about having someone validate you as a person… it’s that human contact.”
Money and consent
As an experienced sex worker, Wotton has long been subject to social stigma and marginalisation. But when you layer on the exposure from Scarlet Road, which has screened at film festivals around the world, you can understand why she’s so guarded. She’s certainly well-versed in stating, and defending, her case.
One of the major criticisms levelled at her surrounds consent – particularly in relation to those whose disability precludes speech. Some of her clients use talking boards on which they point at letters; others have computerised voice machines like Stephen Hawking’s.
“If they can tell their support workers or parents what they want to do today and what they don’t want to do today, and if they have enough knowledge and education around sexual matters, then most people are able to consent,” says Wotton. “Of course there’s always going to be a small percentage [for whom] their disability impedes their ability to consent. But the whole idea that if someone can’t verbalise what they want then they can’t give consent is ridiculous.”
Consent is a fundamental element of any sex worker interaction, she says.
“The only person who can ever consent for anything sexually to do with themselves is themselves. Even if Johnny’s father paid me for a one-hour full-service appointment, when his father leaves I will still talk to Johnny and make sure he understands what he’s there for, and [find out] what he wants and knows he can stop at any time.”
It’s business time
Money is another bone of contention raised by opponents of Wotton’s work. She feels the belief she’s exploiting vulnerable people stems from the fact society isn’t great at treating people with disability as adults who are capable of making their own decisions.
“What I often hear is, ‘Oh, once they get it once they’ll enjoy it and want it more.’ And, ‘If we pay for it once, he’ll harass every female support worker every day.’ It goes back to managing expectations. I’d love a massage every day but I can’t afford it – I have to manage my expectations around that. Once again, it’s about treating people as adults.”
But perhaps the fear Wotton’s most tired of addressing is that if a person with disability loses their virginity to a sex worker, they’ll desire a relationship with them. When it comes to discouraging emotional attachment, she upholds the same boundaries whether a disability’s involved or not.
“People are very concerned people will fall in love [with me],” she says. “But people forget this is a monetary transaction. I encourage people to hand me the money – so even with my clients who have no real arm mobility, the envelope will be beside the bed – and I’ll count the money in front of them.
“And just like with any client, if sex workers are worried a client is becoming too close or too attached, there are lots of things [we can do]… You drop into conversation that you’re going on a date tonight. If they say, ‘Can I take you to the movies?’, you clearly but politely say, ‘That would be a very expensive movie because you do know you’d have to pay me per hour?’ Or, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t meet clients outside a work environment.’ And also not being available – as with lots of occupations, you have separate personal and professional phone numbers.”
A gentle touch
It’s clear Wotton doesn’t see much difference between her able-bodied clients and those with disability. Still, there’s no getting past the fact that, depending on the nature of their disability, some clients may require a more gentle approach.
It’s worth mentioning that nothing about Wotton’s treatment of her clients suggests pity or kindness; respectful and genuine are better descriptors.
“Somehow people think I’m more compassionate because I see people with disability,” she says. “Sure, you have to adapt your service delivery according to what best meets their needs. With Mark in the film, he could nod or shake his head, so I had to ask very specific, closed questions. Obviously there are some positions some clients can’t do because of their mobility limitations, but aside from that, most of the time it’s the same.”
Compassionate may not be the right word, but her interactions with her clients, as depicted in Scarlet Road, do come across as markedly more convivial than the raw, emotionally bereft sex worker transactions Hollywood tends to present.
“If someone has never had any sexual experience, of course you’re not going to walk in there on the first day and say, ‘Right Johnny, I know you’ve been secretly masturbating and maybe you’d like to get laid.’ That’s inappropriate,” she says. “You build it up in terms of sexual education on body image, body functionality, good touch and bad touch… The client gets to know what they like in a safe environment.
“A lot of us had very mediocre sexual experiences, we learned through kissing behind the sheds and having our hearts broken and fumbling around in cars. For some people, they may not be able to have that experience of being on the dating scene. Sometimes it’s [about] companionship,” she says. “A lot of my work is talking, regardless of the [client’s physical condition]. It’s loneliness a lot of my clients have been widowed.”
Fighting for fairness
As well as her large rota of clients, Wotton is kept busy with her advocacy work – which involves presenting at international conferences and running workshops to educate disability advocacy groups and sex workers.
She has a degree in sexual health, is studying for a graduate diploma and is also a campaigner for the rights of all sex workers. She has always, she says, been outspoken in the fight against discrimination.
“There are millions of people with disability who never need or want the services of a sex worker, but there are millions who do; they’re in families, in relationships, dating, or choose to be single. But it’s about equality. It should never be dropped off the table as an option.”
Skin hunger
There are also large numbers of people who were once sexually active but have suffered an accident resulting in ‘acquired disability’. This is one reason Wotton finds opposition to people with disability connecting with sex workers so abhorrent – we are all, she points out, “only one car accident away from being in this situation”.
“Statistically, the highest numbers of people who end up with acquired disabilities through high-risk stuff are men in the 18- to 35-year-old age group. So a lot of them have already had sex, so whether they’re dating or married – some of [the partners] stay, some of them leave. I really like working with this section of this population as well because it’s such a sad and painful time – they’re mourning their futures they’re never going to have, and they’re in a lot of pain. It’s nice to bring them a lot of joy.”
Given medical advances and our ageing population, Wotton predicts the demand for sex services for the widowed elderly as well as people with disability, will continue to grow. She has big ideas for the future, and has appealed to Sir Richard Branson for help with funding initiatives including a not-for-profit brothel.
“We’re all sexual human beings and we have skin hunger… you may not be hanging off the chandeliers when you’re 70 but that doesn’t mean you don’t still want to spoon, and kiss and cuddle, and a bit of fondling,” she says. “People still want affection.”
