This man knew I was a *** worker. It says so, right in my own Bumble profile: retired media ***, current actual ***.
He had even commented about it, using the words every woman longs to know from a romantic interest:'Haha, nice

'. And yet I watched as his face contorted into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the truth of my profession came crashing down around him such as a tonne of bricks.
"That's a lot," he said, and then he rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.
It sometimes surprises people to hear that *** workers do a number of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in the real world after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we've dinner with your families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with this websites providers for what feels as though hours.
It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at work will be enough to make up for a potential not enough intimate connection in our lives outside of work; so many of us also date, with varied quantities of success.
A few months ago, I ended a relationship with a person I have been seeing for almost two years. In private, he was a huge supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune appeared to change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "That is Kate..." the silence that hung in the room where, "...my girlfriend," should have been weighed a tonne.
I don't believe he personally had a problem with me being fully a *** worker, but I really do feel that the possibility of other folks judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to create him want to help keep me a secret.
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