Every person procuring sex is confronting God’s abandonment: all we want is to cushion the melancholic prick of the ephemeral – the way tits are more reminder than they are taste – before long we must succumb to nature’s unbridled authority. My clients come to me spiritually vacuous and searching for something – anything – to believe in. It is a common misconception that sex work is about carnal rapaciousness or even power. Instead, I provide for my clients the illusion that they are loved unconditionally – they pay for the authentic facade of inherent worthiness in a world forsaken of mercy. John was the first client I ever loved back. ( I am not immune to our permanent human condition of lamenting, of longing). He told me he was drawn to the description on my Seeking Arrangement profile of “a busty dreamer and realist.” We yielded so easily to the promise of fantasy. He asked to read my poetry. He asked about my relationship with my parents and how I grew up. He supported me through graduate school – we yielded too easily to the promise of fantasy. Yet, all love is capricious and all whims must expire. Contentment and this life cannot coincide for long. In a world so fleeting, hunger is all that lasts: all we want is to cushion the melancholic prick of the ephemeral, to believe, for a moment, there is a God.