“Don’t, like, start going to the gym or anything,” said one of my clients a few months back.

“Sorry, what?” I answered

“Not that you don’t go to the gym, but you know… Don’t feel pressured to conform. Your body’s super hot how it is.”

He said his parting words and I stomped off in a temper, feeling far too perceived.

His comment had riled me, but upon reflection — wasn’t he right?

I’ve always had a knee-jerk reaction to societal mores. This is largely what attracted me to sex work in the first place. The pressure to visually “fit in” and look a certain way just to be congruent, is just one of the non-sensical standards I object to.

My motive for joining Rubenesque* (a fat escorting agency) was largely one of reclamation. Some kind of freedom from the taunts and teasing of my childhood. It felt like saying:

“Yes, I am a fat whore. And…?”

Hans*, the man who ran Rubenesque (and took 30% of our earnings) had an empire of different websites that catered to a variety of “fetishes”. A shrewd business decision on his part, to clean up on niche markets alongside his main escort site which catered to “normal”.

The landing page boasted:

XXL ESCORTS – ENTER HERE.

Other keywords it used to describe us included “chubby”, “big boobs”, “fat ass” and “curvy”. The people that it referred to were mostly midsized women (including myself, a size 14 at the time) and were a mixture of ages, body shapes and ethnicities. Although it was advertised as a service catering to fat fetishes, it didn’t really. Rubenesque was just a selection of female sex workers who were all tenuously linked through collectively not being thin.

I wasn’t dysphoric about my size and have never been crippled by bodily anxiety. I’m not sure if you could say I love or hate my body, but it’s been a preoccupation lying just below the surface. I’ve always felt detached from my physicality, yet I’ve been extremely aware of (what I’ve coined to be) its “surplus femininity”. I always felt like “a tavern wench”. Someone who might hitch her skirts up to show a little bit of thigh at a knees-up. The girl who gives a cheeky wink whilst she pushes her tits together in the queue to the dodgems. A naughty seaside postcard. A carry-on film. A caricature.

XXL ESCORTS

I’m sure these images in my mind's eye are deeply entrenched in classism and slut-shaming. And, are tainted by the simple fact that no one takes you seriously when you have big boobs.

As a student, I was an artist’s life model. I’ve seen a multitude of sketches, drawn to varying degrees of skill, of my body languidly draped on a chaise-longue. Sometimes clutching a diaphanous cloth to my breast. Sometimes perching on a ladder. I observed that men tended to draw my breasts larger and perter than they really were. Like great, big, shiny orbs on my chest. At the time, I was grateful to my “classical” physique because people tended to ask me for reclining poses rather than to stand up. Which is a win, if you’re being paid to stay still. Rubenesque, with its red velvet curtains and rococo font, was whistling to the same tune.

Part of doing sex work is to stand in the harsh daylight of scrutiny. I’ve made amends with that. On some level, it feels more honest to be objectified so openly. Compared to my old day job at a beauty PR agency, where I became image-obsessed and miserable escorting is a more positive feedback loop. This being said, the weight of a John’s expectations always lingers in the back of my mind. With Rubenesque, although it paid less than other agencies, I knew the customers weren’t going to judge my body for being “too fat” and that was reassuring. I don’t do agency work anymore but have kept up independent escorting. It’s often given me pause to think about body fetish, validation, and self-image.

I find the world of sex work to be much more varied in body type than say the fashion industry. Which is tediously generic, even more so when it’s trying to be inclusive. But because of the prevalence of keyword optimisation people’s bodies get categorised into sweeping labels to market them more efficiently. As much as Rubenesque didn’t really cater to fat fetishes, the range of bodies that appear when you type BBW into PornHub is enormous. I’m not sure I really believe or comply with these labels on a granular level. It’s just like a giant, loose-knit sieve which we’re forced to look at the world through.

I enjoy objectification. Knowingly playing with these constructs is empowering for me. We all sit somewhere in a subject/object paradigm and the line between fetishising someone and revering them isn’t as clean as contemporary discourse would like it to be. Through the years my body has fluctuated up and down. Although the response is mostly positive, my reaction to comments made about my body parts is nearly always repulsion.

The same guy who told me “not to conform” followed up our appointment with an email asking me for some private videos.

“What would you like to see?” I asked him.

“I want to see you oiling your incredible huge tits and sumptuous belly” he answered.

Don't Conform

Receiving this email made me feel like a prize milk cow. It doesn’t bother me that I’m being objectified for my lack of gag reflex. I enjoy that bit. But something about a man exalting the wonders of my (I quote) “fat udders trembling” makes me grimace. I’m not sure what to make of this contradiction. I acknowledge that when I do things like sign up to an XXL escorting site, I’m opening myself up to a world of body-worship but it still feels a tender spot.

I’ve concluded that even though I seek to defy societal pressure on my appearance, I’m clearly holding onto it in some way. I know I should enjoy these typically feminine features that I’m endowed with. Tits ‘n’ ass, two ticks in the box for conformity, right there. But when someone draws attention to “my assets”, it makes me feel uncomfortable. In general, sex for me is an escape from bodily awareness rather than an affirmation of its existence. It’s a place I can achieve body neutrality and can lose myself. But this particular aspect of sex work is about bringing my body into focus.

The empowerment I feel about reclaiming labels, such as “fat whore” only comes into question in rare instances when someone shines a light on my insecurity. And regardless of whether it’s valid or not, I can’t share in celebrating these parts of myself that I’ve spent so long feeling are an obstacle. But, I can challenge the status quo, by continuing not to conform. Moreover, I can walk away with a payout in the knowledge I’m making it work for myself in one way or other.

I’ve talked more about these topics in my recently released book, “Dear Mr Andrews” which covers my bumpy transition from being a “mature” sugar baby to escort. If anyone wants to reach out to me about their own experiences of body fetishisation within sex work, I’m keen to keep the conversation going. It’s an isolating world out there for us “whores with more”.

*name changed for anonymity

Words and images by Lotte Latham | IG @mybabyallgone | TW @lotte_latham

Lotte Latham is a professional hedonist, artists, sex worker and author of a newly illustrated memoir, “Dear Mr Andrews” (Guts Publishing).

Find “Dear Mr Andrews” here:

Guts Publishing - https://www.gutspublishing.com/dear-mr-andrews

Amazon - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dear-Mr-Andrews-Lotte-Latham/dp/1838471960