Almost every time I give a lecture or attend a panel, the audience has a similar response. At the end, a woman — probably named something like Emma or Jennifer — will raise her hand and smile demurely. “You’re very brave, Lydia,” she tells me, looking around the audience to…

My parents didn’t know I’d moved house. — They found out when my sister saw the Instagram story and my mother phoned me, confused. “Your dad sent you something this morning. It was meant to arrive today,” she told me. “What is it?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light. “He says it’s a surprise, but that…

What is it like to have a sex worker as a parent? My sister Ramona looks a lot like I did when I was sixteen. We are compared to each other frequently. Despite the mere six years between us, she feels to me as if she is decades removed. When…

The contradictory world of “pro-anorexia” forums Before you begin this article, please be aware that it contains details about my own eating disorder and experiences on ‘pro-ana’ forums. If you struggle with disordered behavior or body-image issues, it may be best to avoid reading on. I do not advocate the…

But I pity their wives even more. I began manipulating men for money when I was seventeen. Manipulating is a very strong word, actually, since I was so used to being treated poorly by men that asking them to pay a small amount for my participation felt tantamount to extortion…

Why are men pretending to be sex workers online? — Picture the scene: a dimly lit room taken up nearly entirely by a bed. I’m on my back, my legs spread, counting the ceiling tiles. I’m 22 years old, blonde, and often the subject of sexual harassment on the street. The man rubbing his stubble against my vulva is in…

Ah, yes. Date etiquette. The debate that launched 1000 tweets. Cards on the table: I have split the bill on dates before while in a long term relationship. I have paid for dates before while dating women. I have also had my meals paid for by men. I don’t do…

I don’t remember all the faces. It’s a fact I get stuck on sometimes. Can I be traumatised if I can’t even recall all their faces? Shouldn’t I be able to recount every second of being raped in vivid detail? I can’t. I can only picture two of the men…

I do not enjoy my job, but I’m thankful for it — Downstairs, in the back office, is a man. He’s around 50 years old; we’ll call him “Bryan.” Bryan is counting out stacks of twenties and dividing them between plastic wallets. Some of the money is going to the bank to pay the rent on the building or to pay the…