I Had Gone On A Bender

The first time I paid for sex I was twenty-four years old at a business convention in New Orleans. After finding out that my wife had slept with one of her co-workers while I was away, I had gone on a bender through the French Quarter. The last place I ended up at was a real dive, and I bought a "champagne room dance" from a woman working the bar. The champagne room was the antithesis of glamor; it was just an empty room with a couple of chairs, a red light bulb, and a blue plastic tarp that covered the doorway. When she seated me in the chair she noticed my wedding ring and asked if I'd ever cheated on my wife before. I hadn't realized until then what I had purchased, but I decided to go ahead with it.

I can remember it vividly; what she was wearing, the songs on the jukebox, and mostly talking to her afterward. She had a story about losing her husband in a car wreck and ending up in New Orleans. Even though the bartender had delivered the two splits of champagne, neither of us touched it; she was drinking peach schnapps from a bottle out of her purse. I didn't really feel anything about the experience, and to this day I still don't know what to make of it.

There was a five year interlude before I paid for sex again. By then, it was a lot easier to find "erotic services" online, and I saw perhaps a dozen providers over a few year period. Some I saw repeatedly; one I ended up dating for a few months. She was still working while we were together and it didn't bother me.

It's been over a year now and I don't really miss it. The sex itself ranged from at best okay to downright mediocre, and the experience didn't give me what I really wanted. It never really cut through the lonely feeling in my life, and I stopped trying to fill that with sex, paid or otherwise.

I Found A Trailer On The Outskirts Of Town

Both my marriages were mistakes in a way, especially the first one. Right out of college, I really had no clue what I needed or wanted, or what I had a right to expect from marriage. Every time she criticized me, the only response I knew was to resolve to cut that part of my personality out of the relationship. It didn't take long for me to become a resentful shell in the marriage, just playing the role she seemed to expect me to play. For her part, she only seemed to want sex when she was drunk, and she was never willing to confide in me what turned her on sexually, saying, "If I have to tell you, it spoils it."

So it's no surprise that I was deeply sexually frustrated and didn't know how to correct that within the marriage. I missed getting the judgmental gene that has most of polite society looking down their noses at sex workers, so somehow (I don't remember how; this was back in the mid 1970s) I found a trailer on the outskirts of town where I could buy some time with a woman.

She was lovely and had the softest skin I've ever touched. I had a lot of difficulty getting hard, though, and then a lot of difficulty climaxing. I asked for a change of position three or four times, and she got exasperated and said, "This is the last time." In spite of the buzz kill, though, her beauty and the fact that the money made up for my shortcomings allowed me to climax, and the pattern was set. This was the way I could count on to give me uncomplicated sexual release with a partner for the rest of my life.

I can't afford it very often now, because I've figured out that the ones who charge $250 an hour are the ones who offer the closest thing to a real girlfriend experience, and that makes it all so much better that it's worth having to wait a lot longer between appointments. I get to pretend she really likes me and that she enjoys what I do for her enough to want to see me again for that, not just the money. Between appointments I sometimes recall my favorite sessions, and embellish them with even more of what I really want, especially the precise words she could say at just the right time to be the perfect turn-on.

I want to tell you about the most memorable of the girls. She called herself [redacted], and she worked at a massage parlor in [redacted] called [redacted]. I don't think I'm giving any useful information away; this was back in the 1970s. She was gorgeous and she did layouts for the men's magazines; I have a copy of [redacted] from that era with a pictorial of hers in it. I wish I had found videos she was in, but it was hard enough getting her to tell me which [redacted] issue I needed to look for. Anyway, she was over 6 feet tall, and since I'm 6'5", that was a big advantage. She had long blonde hair and a figure like Sophia Loren's, enhanced to about F-cup tits. But her surgery was new enough that there was no scar tissue, and they looked and felt natural.

Her body was literally my ideal fantasy. I didn't know enough about where my sexual hot buttons were to ask for precisely what would have turned me on the most, but I can do that now in my maturbatory reveries. On her own she managed to show me a couple of moves that made me cum instantly. I was able to connect with her three times over a period of a year or two before she vanished, and I've always wondered what happened to her. Conversation with her was very difficult; I think there were drugs involved, but I couldn't be certain. She may have just been reluctant to be at all personally revealing with me.

I've been lucky and, as far as I know, none of the women I have dated or married has found out about my extracurricular activity. I wish I could combine the two worlds somehow, or at least make real relationships more satisfying. But it's so much easier when the only thing the woman really expects from me is money.

I Am A Gentleman

At about the age of 50, I made a fabulous discovery. I'd married young and had only been with my wife to that point. That marriage eventually dissolved, and so did another one, and now I'm on number three. Until recently, I had been sexually involved only with my wives. That isn't to say I was entirely happy about that. I went through a lot of years wondering what it would be like to make love with different women. Not fuck. Actually make love to. But as others have noted many times, affairs are tar pits.

Then I found out that at my age, with some disposable income, and with an in-built respect for womankind, I was a valuable commodity. Interesting women actually wanted to have sex with me. And good sex. Sex with someone who is skilled, experienced, and eager to please. After a lot of education thanks to boards and helpful sites, I went to my first session and never looked back. I'm choosy about who I see. She has to be known in the local community, well-regarded, and with good reviews. My involvement is a hobby, not an emotional imperative. The ladies I patronize are largely smart and compassionate, known to provide good service. With such ladies, there is no such thing as a bad time, although some are better than others. There is admittedly little emotional involvement, but that's fine. It's entertainment, not networking. It's my own little bit of performance art, a play entirely for my benefit. I am not a john, you see. I am a client. I am, in the parlance, a gentleman.

My wife does not know, and perhaps would not care overly much if she did. She has had health problems that limit her sexual involvement. In fact, she has benefited from my secret little life. I learn a great deal from providers, and I bring that home to practice when I can. Much of what providers can teach does not require gymnastics.

There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.

And the best part is that my hobby enables me to grow in confidence. It continues to teach me about human nature. It has introduced me to like-minded people who support one another in the shadow community we share. It is not dismal nor depressing. It is not a sad place at all. It is a place of exhilaration, negotiation, and keen fun. It is the purest form of commerce that I know, and the most instructive. I may give it up some day; I don't do it often now. But I know it has been good for me.

I Was Haunted

I grew up devoutly religious. My religion taught me that sex was sacred and not to be trifled with. Something about the forbidden fruits there that created an obsession. Since losing my faith, I discovered that many others in my faith and other similar authoritarian based faiths also were plagued by this same obsession. I was warned all the time about the evils of pornography and petting and fornication. Tsk. Gasoline to the fires of curiosity.

So I got married... young... I was 23. I brought my fascination of sex into the marriage only to discover that my mate was not well matched to my interests and we floated off into separate corners of the marital galaxies. I found myself dabbling in phone sex a couple of times only to be consumed by hollowness. That marriage ended and I soon remarried to a wonderful woman. We are very much in love. But again, the sex is so so. I was haunted. Was I to be one of those men who ventured through life not knowing what real sex was? The thought tortured me.

The first time I caved into actually soliciting a prostitute, I had already spent several peripheral moments observing the various local streetwalkers, fascinated by their craft and wondering if they really could provide excellent sex.

I drank some beer, became inebriated, and found the courage to call an agency. I could barely speak on the phone. She came over. She noted I was drunk and charged me what seemed to be a high price but I was desperate. I wanted to go down on her and her do the same to me. She apparently did not bring protection. That still baffles me to this day as my subsequent encounters showed that to be a total anomaly. My first experience was unprotected sex with a whore. What a moron I was.

I spent the next month absolutely racked with a fear that I had picked up aids. I went to a local health care provider to get tested. They asked me questions and stupid me answered that yes, I had sex with a whore. Whatever. The nurse just stared at me like I had three heads. I felt so stupid.

The whole experience was a let down and curbed my appetite for a couple of years.

Then the call of the wild came haunting back as those years were filled with the same old so so sex with my wife. I wanted more. She will not consent to anal sex or role playing or anything kinky as she is devoutly religious. The same nagging of "Is this all there will be for me?" came sauntering back into my life. So I visited a whorehouse and was so nervous that I could barely get it up. She massaged me and spoke softly in her broken asian accent. Things finally clicked and I had so so sex with a bonafide whore in a bonafide place of "ill repute". It was thrilling. I was hooked.

I found another asian cutie who was willing to finger my anus. She had long fingernails so I told her to stop. Then I mounted her for what seemed to be 30 minutes and had a powerful climax. She washed me off and I hustled out the door. It was good but not excellent. I returned a month later to find another asian cutie, much older than myself but with a very large cup size. Could this be it? I got nervous. She was very gentle and soft and caring and spread her legs so wide I did not know legs could do that... and her large breasts sent me over the edge in less than a minute. She comforted me and acknowledged that I was just too nervous. Dang. Another let down... but I was still hooked.

But why? The sex wasn't all that great. Probably because I was so nervous every time. I visited again to several houses about 15 different times. Walking up to them found my heart pounding out of my chest. It was thrilling. Each time I wondered if finally I would have the great sex I craved. However, none of my visits have provided me with anything existentially mind bending. Every time I walked out I felt badly. Gotta love that old religious programming, dammit! I even tried sex with a shemale... which turned out to be anticlimatic because I could not get it up. I wanted to suck her dry but could not bring myself to do it. I tried to penetrate her but failed. She tried to penetrate me but could not get hard enough. We parted wondering what was wrong with me. The thought of having sex with a girl who also had an extra bonus for me was so titillating and I was amazed by how beautiful and feminine a pre-op transsexual was. The whole scene absolutely fascinates me. They are actually real people with real breast implants and real desires to have sex with men as a half way female. I was so sure I wanted it because some times I think I have low levels of homosexuality and this appeared to be the perfect transition attempt. I am pretty sure I will try sex with another shemale another time just to be sure it wasn't me. The thought of that excites me... but I am still very attracted to full females.

I believe part of my exploration into having sex with 15-20 prostitutes (I lost count) has to do with freeing myself from the tendrils of religion. Doing an act that I know is so taboo in my former religion empowers me to distance myself from it. That distance is something I need. I can't stand organized religion and it's surefire dogmatism of morality. Who are they to tell me what is moral? There was guilt, but also an accompanying sense of vanquishment and separation from any sort of God that might exist that I found comforting. It was like a moment of guilt followed by a sense of me sticking my middle finger up at the controlling religious roots that held me captive and took such advantage of my first 2 decades of life. I loved that feeling.

I have studied my guilt and found that it lies within the context of not being able to connect with my wife. I blame myself for that. I want great sex and I can't have it. The guilt does not come from any sense of "oh my... I am going to hell now" as I don't believe such a place exists. I just feel badly that there exists no tantalizing sexual connection with my wife.

I'm Only Going To Be Alive Once

I am now in my mid 40s. In my early 20s, a time when I had very little sex experience, I'd gotten married. We were incompatible sexually, never really comfortable together that way. Still, we had a big group of friends and family. Because of that (and just plain fear of change,) we stayed together for several years.

During this time of sexual frustration at home, I became obsessively interested in streetwalkers. At first I would just go to different parts of town where street prostitutes worked and watch them. Then one day I paid for a blowjob and it was on— every chance I got I was out getting street sex. In the car, in alleys, doorways and parking lots, in the hallways of apartment buildings, once in an airshaft of a public housing project, in the cab of an abandoned truck and sometimes in scary hotels.

It was an adventure, and there was a "thrill of the hunt" almost as fun as the sex. I knew all the different parts of town where girls would be, and which types would be there— from the classier ladies to the crack smokers and junkies.

The really rough, druggie girls were fascinating to me because they were exotic and intense. (After all, I grew up on a farm and had just moved to the city a few years earlier.) I did this in such a compulsive gonad-stupor that I only later gained the minimal empathy required to realize what hellish lives many of these women must have had. I realize now what karmic awfulness I was implicating myself in.

Still, I'm glad for many things I got to experience— the kinds of girls and body types I would have never otherwise been able to explore. Beautiful fat girls, black girls, tiny small girls, tall-like-a-basketball player girls, asian girls, classic blond bombshells, punk rockers, beautiful mature-aged ladies, etc.

Prostitution is often thought of as a disease risk, but I never met a street-girl during this time who didn't carry condoms and insist on their use. I never felt endangered, aside from the possibility of getting jumped or carjacked in some of the neighborhoods I went to for sex (which never happened either.)

Some of the situations were completely odd, but totally fun. I remember running into a cute, funny, curly-haired girl on the street once. I would have never guessed that she was turning tricks until she made the first move of propositioning me. We went up to her room and I laid on the bed for a great blowjob. It was only after this that I noticed that she had a ferret on a leash scrambling around in the folds of her little fur coat.

My obsession pretty much ended when my wife and I divorced. I moved on, found a girlfriend with whom I had harmonious sex so excellent it made furtive back alley transactions seem uninteresting. I didn't look back.

Flash forward twenty years. In the wake of a breakup from another relationship and a series of professional failures, I find myself looking in the Erotic Services section, and eventually I meet up with a few girls advertising there.

It's been a very different set of experiences than before. It's much more expensive (though I feel I've gotten what I paid for.) These girls have been very professional, without signs of drug addiction or desperation. There has been a leisurely pace and a general good humor and friendliness that I didn't experience in the old days. Through the internet it's much easier to access different, diverse and exotic types that would be difficult to find otherwise. Finally, it takes a little research and investigation to find the experiences that are right for you, so be careful and use common sense if you're going to do this.

I met with a gorgeous older woman in her fifties. She was incredible. like nothing I ever encountered in streetwalker days. Gentle, cheerful, thoughtful. She seemed to truly enjoy having sex and talking with me. It was so much like a 'girlfriend experience' that it felt completely natural that I go down on her, which, again, she at least appeared to enjoy. She finished me off with a lovely blowjob. Laying around talking with her, I felt really comfortable. Walking up the block, I still could smell her scent on me. I realized that this had not only been the best sex I'd had with a prostitute, but some of the most memorable sex that I've had in my life, period.

I met with a preop transexual, who was stunning, friendly and awe-inspiring in fishnets and boots. I thought I would be freaked out, but she immediately put me at ease. I had a really fun time learning that the 'girl with something extra' experience was not really for me.

I met with a heartbreakingly beautiful latin lady who gave me a fantastic sensual massage ending with a perfectly controlled handjob. We sat naked in her studio for more than an hour after, idly talking. I could have proposed marriage then and there.

Most recently, a pretty blond BBW welcomed me to her place with cheerful jokes. She encouraged me to come multiple times and there was lots of giggly moving around and shifting of positions. Afterward, we swapped life histories.

As a sensualist, prostitution gives me access to experiences which would be otherwise impossible for me. As a human, it temporarily provides for me a kind of companionship I spend long periods without. I'm only going to be alive once, so I really might as well. (The judgement of others is really the only thing stopping me, and that's pretty easy to circumvent and/or disregard.)

I Was Smitten

My problem is that I tend to fall in love a little with my "providers," sometimes just a crush, sometimes veering towards more. And it’s sometimes mutual—I’ve actually dated two providers I first met as a client. Truly dated, without paying for the sex. I think it goes back to my young marriage. I was quite young, 19 years old, and I married a girl my age who was so completely sexually open that she set an almost impossible bar for the relationships I’ve had since. We divorced when we were both 23, and for a long time the only way I could experience the kind of sexual intensity I had with my former wife was to date much older women, 30 or older. Occasionally I would date someone my age or younger, but invariably I was disappointed. Younger women, and I know this is generalizing, are just not as comfortable in their own skin. Now, at the age of 38, I realize just how lucky I was with my young wife.

Right around the age of 30, I started seeing prostitutes, always in between "real" girlfriends. I use a local Internet review board and do a lot of research before settling on someone new. For the first few years, it was more about sexual variety—women of different ages, races, body types. And they were almost always extremely sexually skilled. It created kind of a vicious circle: when I started my next relationship, I would long for and expect the sexual competence and freedom that prostitutes often provided. Finally, about four years in, I started falling for a provider for the first time. Her working name was Trixie, and I was smitten the moment I laid my eyes on her. She looked like Bettie Page, tall and voluptuous, and we both felt an instant rapport. The sex was completely off the charts from the very first time. I’ve been with many women and can be a little jaded, but she surprised me with every move. From the deepest deep throat of my life to her actually asking for anal (and coming that way), she initially reeled me in with her superior sexual skills. But then, fuck, she turned out to be smart, as in scary smart. She was more than just a dirty talker... she would spin crazy, creative, erotic stories on the fly, while we were fucking, and by the time an hour was up, I felt as though I’d had sex with a dozen goddesses.

I saw Trixie as a paying client for about six months before I finally asked her out. I took her out just a few times, and we had a lot of fun, as well as a lot of really great sex. Unfortunately, I started having true feelings for her. I remember a really sad moment where the impossibility of the situation hit home. We were having Sunday brunch at a cool little neighborhood spot, and it hit me: "Dude, you’re dating a prostitute." I suddenly realized that this was something I just was never going to be able to explain to most people, certainly not my family, although I’ve since told a couple of friends who didn’t think it was that big a deal. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her as a non-client. I stayed away for almost two years and went back as a client just once before she retired. We had a sweet little reunion, and she told me about her plans for going back to school, and getting married, and moving to a small mountain town. She said, "You know, we probably could have made something work." We had amazing sex one last time. About a year later, I got an e-mail invite to a BBQ at her and her new husband’s place. I had a new girlfriend at the time, and I couldn’t figure out a way of explaining my connection to Trixie, so I ignored the invitation. I think of her fondly now, but haven’t tried to make contact.

Since then, I’ve dated one other provider, and a part of me wants very badly to ask out another who I’ve been seeing recently. It’s sad, because the sex is at the level I desire, and, like so many working girls I’ve met, she’s incredibly witty, big-hearted, and intelligent. But there’s no good end. It would break the hearts of so many people in my life if they knew the truth about a relationship that started that way, and I couldn’t live with myself lying about it. I have a suspicion that I will always harbor crushes and strong feelings for providers. There are worse crosses to bear.

I Must Be The Luckiest Man In The World

I have had sex with many, many sex workers. I think I had sex with a transvestite once as well. I started in Germany, where prostitution (at least most of it) is legal. I was hooked. Even after marrying I wanted them. It was an addiction. This was at the dawn of the AIDs scare but I was reckless. Somehow I never caught anything. So, I have been patronizing prostitutes for almost 30 years, most of them streetwalkers, but not all. A few months ago my wife found out most of it and almost left me. Somehow, for some reason, she still loves me. I love her. We are still together, but as long as she lives I will never touch another woman. I cannot believe she stayed, but I must be the luckiest man in the world.

I'm Faithful In Every Other Sense Of The Word

I don't know how I got interested in prostitutes, but as I get older, and my sex drive increases, I find they're more of a necessity and less of a lark. If I don't get some kind of release at least once a week (and masturbation doesn't do it for me nearly as well as someone else doing it), in a massage parlor or with a prostitute.

I'm happily married, but my wife and I don't have sex nearly as often as we used to before our daughter was born, and unfortunately, it's starting to wear on me. Not only that, but when we do end up having sex, I have to do all the work, get her all worked up and then get to humpin' at her command. It's fine and everything, but sometimes it's nice to have someone focus on me, and my sexual needs and wants, for a change.

It's not emotional betrayal but rather a physical one, but I strangely don't feel guilty after, probably because I'm faithful in every other sense of the word. I always, always, always wear a condom so I don't bring anything home, but I think I'm getting more turned on by the random nature of the hooker-john relationship and the sexual freedom prostitutes engender.

Every time I go to a brothel, it gets a little bit more fun, also. The freedom I enjoy, the challenge of finding a whore I connect well with and can enjoy the act with, rather than it just be someone who's there because she has to be. The last time I went, I got to have sex with an older (then me, she was about 38. I'm 31) Russian lady, who still occupies a warm place in my heart because she looked me in the eyes as I climaxed and genuinely seemed to be interested in my pleasure.

That's what turns me on.

I Am Very Reclusive

First, I am very reclusive and considered eccentric and odd by the few people I know. I don't drink or do drugs, I don't go out to bars and clubs, and never have. I grew up being picked on, insulted, beat up, laughed at by girls when I started asking them out, and was even made a fool at my high school prom by not only being stood up, but it being the focus of most everyone's entertainment while there, because of my condition, and other similar cruel behaviors from others, as I was diagnosed with a condition at the age of five that had gotten much worse as I got older (now managed with new drugs, and it's a genetic problem, not a virus or disease). Kids are brutal, and even grownups fear what they did not know. It leads you to avoid people, be alone, hide from them. Mix that with moving a lot as a kid, where you are always the "new kid in school," and it's hard. It's frustrating.

But about ten years ago, I was out on the West Coast and was out with some coworkers for lunch. They asked why I was not married with kids. Well, I gave them the long story about how I was kicked out of four different schools by teachers and school nurses who had no understanding of my condition, how kids picked on me for having to get special tutoring, as I would miss two days of school every week for doctor visits, and how it just made me develop into one who keeps to myself.

There was a woman there who overheard all this, and she asked me if she could ask me something in private. She asked about my condition. She understood it because she also had the same problem. She said we could arrange something. I was appalled, at first; however, she set some ground rules we both could live with. She was looking for a little help to make ends meet, and I could use some good company as a friend, as well as in the bed.

Simply put, twice a month during my year-long stay on the West Coast I had a guaranteed date. Someone to talk to, someone who wasn't afraid of sexual relations with me, someone who taught me a lot mentally and physically about women. Someone who was more than just a quick lay. She was also a friend. So, every time I was in town, I'd let her know, and we'd hook up. She was willing to do anything I wanted, as long as I helped her with her financial situation. It worked well for the short time I was there. And it felt great to go out with someone who was attractive, one of the beautiful people. Someone who never complained, didn't mooch off of me, didn't get fat, and was always willing. It was great. I'd happily do it again.

In fact, I think I am going to tonight.

I Almost Was Caught

For a two or three year period starting in 2002, I saw many different "providers," as they're called here in Seattle. My wife and I had not been married very long when we started to have kids. We were in our mid to late 30s when we were married, and she had never been married before (I had). She had quite a hard adjustment living with just one other person when we started adding kids to the mix, and during this time our intimacy (not just our sex lives) really started to dry up. In my first marriage, I had become used to having sex four or five times a week, even when we were fighting. At times, it would be adventurous sex (in public, with one of her girlfriends, bondage, etc.). I knew sex wasn't as much a priority for my new wife, but she is such a beautiful, wonderful, great person, I thought I could handle it. I did handle it until intimacy became nonexistent.

Since I was in college, I would go to strip clubs every now and then. My first wife would go with me or pick up a wad of $1 bills for when I would go with friends. My new wife had an issue with that, so I stopped going as often, and I wouldn't tell her when I'd go. I liked strip clubs in that you could get a good looking woman to feel you up, but then you get all worked up with no release. Occasionally, you would find a stripper who would jerk you off in a dark corner or the VIP room, but eventually those strippers or clubs would get busted.

One day, I decided to call on an ad I saw in the back of the local weekly. It advertised a New Age "massage" and Tantra experience. It is still to this day one of the most sensual experiences I have ever had. There was no intercourse or oral, it was just a beautiful woman, in a warm candlelit room, with New Age music, rubbing you down, and giving you a hand finish. I had found a new way to wind down from a very stressful job and cold marriage. An hour with this experience was much less expensive than an hour in a strip club, and you were able to get off as well.

Along the way, I also discovered a local resource here in Seattle that rated providers and what they did, what they charged, how good it was, etc. I had to learn a coded language, but it was a good way to not get ripped off. Some of the ads in the back of the weekly were basically streetwalkers trying to scam guys. It happened to me once. With the review website, I was now able to hear from hobbyists who had reviewed girls, and they were safe. As I became a regular with the New Age massage (called FBSM in the code, full body sensual massage), the girls came to know me and more things came on the menu specifically French (code for oral). One girl I regularly saw gave a great massage since she was trained as a legit massage therapist. The more I saw her, the more we became friends, and the more we would do. On my third visit, she had me sit up on the bed, then she would turn around, pour oil down her back and the crack of her ass, and have me hump between her ass cheeks (called Italian in the code). Eventually, we wound up having full on intercourse. Our last couple of times together, she didn't charge me. We stayed in touch after she retired until she moved across the country.

I did try full service escorts (code for escorts that offer intercourse), but the FBSM girls offered more of the intimacy I was craving. One full service escort was very much the girlfriend experience that many guys crave. She was knock down beautiful, and she knew what guys like me were looking for. Every time she saw you, she acted like she was the girlfriend you had been apart from for a long time. She eventually retired.

I don't know how much I spent for that period of time, but it was a lot. Seattle is known for having reasonable prices for escorts compared to other cities, so it was definitely cheaper than hanging in the strip clubs. My wife eventually noticed we weren't catching up on our bills as quick as she thought we should, and I almost was caught. I had to do a big tap dance, but I was able to get around it. That was the incident that made me realize how much I still loved my wife and my kids, and how much I didn't want to lose them. My wife and I finally got into counseling and our relationship is the best it's ever been. As our intimacy has deepened, our sex has become more intense as well. I know now that while I was seeing the escorts, I was distancing myself farther and farther from my family. I was willing to settle for little to no sex to save my family, and luckily it never came to that. My wife still does not know.

I Got What I Wanted

Four months before my 50th birthday, I discovered that my husband of 28 years had been having an affair. I was crushed. For several months afterwards, I was split on whether to reconcile and "save" our marriage or leave. I just couldn't commit one way or the other.

I had a conference I was speaking at in New York. Inspired by the movie "The Wedding Date," I found an escort agency in New York and arranged for an "escort," preferably over 35, for the second night of my stay, after I completed my speaking obligation. My goal was simple. I needed to know that I could be naked in front of a man other than my husband and enjoy the experience. I'm attractive, but I have the stretch marks of four pregnancies, breasts slightly less than perky, and, despite daily workouts, thighs that jiggle. He called beforehand, offering to make dinner reservations, but I offered room service instead. I was nervous when he arrived, but he was very comfortable and relaxed. We agreed to have dinner later, and I started to undress but he stopped me. He undressed me, and then helped me undress him. If my body was anything less than desirable, I never felt it. He coaxed me onto the bed and, starting with my earlobes, kissed and stroked his way down, softly describing each body part as he touched it. He would arrange my hands and fingers and then kiss over and through them. We never did have dinner. Instead, we made love twice, he went down on me twice, and I went down on him once. We spooned and slept in between. In the morning, we showered and shampooed each other's hair. (I mention that only because it was amazing.) Afterwards, we had a somewhat erotic toweling off session, he dressed, and we talked for a couple of minutes. I asked him for an honest appraisal of my body. He was candid, but he closed with this: "What really makes a woman sexy is that she participates and actively enjoys, not just sex, but life. You are going to be just fine." He asked me if I would like him to come back that night. No. I got what I wanted. It wasn't romantic, but I wasn't looking for romance. It turned out to be the best $2,000 I ever spent--that includes a $500 tip.

What followed was unexpected. For the first time in years, I felt truly sexy and desirable. That night, I went out with a group of friends to a series of blues clubs. What followed became a running joke. Drinks were sent to the table for me. Men, primarily in their late 30s, hit on me. Even a member of our own group tried to talk me into a lesson on body shots.

More surprisingly, I went home to my marriage. Knowing that I had other choices and that I wasn't acting out of fear, I was able to commit to a reconciliation. I had to discreetly teach my husband several of the tricks I had learned, but I never told him. It is still tough at times, but I would never have been able, really, to return to my marriage without having taken this step.

I Am Handsome and Successful

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I'm Not a John

I’m not a john. Never wanted to be one.

Not for any great moralistic reasons, not because it is bad or sinful or exploitative or anything like that, although I later developed some opinions on that. But because I never felt any attraction at all towards the idea.

For me, sex is basically a friendly act. You don’t have to be in love or anything, but for sex to be interesting for me, it has to be accepting and participatory; basically, if a woman isn’t actually interested in having sex with me, I’m not interested in having sex with her. So if I am paying someone to pretend to like me or be turned on, well, it feels about as sexy as cold mashed potatoes.

And all this would be fine, but because of my social work type job, over the years I have found myself on various prostitution groups; some working to help sex-workers, some to abate street-level prostitution, some to help underage sex-workers, and so on. And when you are doing that kind of work, well there is always the nagging suspicion that you are actually a john, rather like the pedophile/cub-scout leader. There seems to almost be an assumption that all men are potential johns, only being held back by money, or a spouse, or social conditioning, or religious/ethical beliefs. It is rather like the fundies that are so scared of gay sex: they almost seem to think that every man has a fag lurking within, struggling to get out and enjoy addictive gay sex.

Well it just ain’t so. And I really don’t like people thinking this way about me. But when you are actually working with sex-workers and ex-sex-workers, they seem to almost have an article of faith that all men have either hired a hooker, or want to. And that because of their work, they think that they are some kind of sex expert, and have a good understanding of male psychology. (Porn stars seem to get into the same way of thinking--one thing about sex work I think, is that it can warp your thinking.) Which isn’t true, they just have a good understanding of the psychology of johns, who are, I believe, a minority. (I also don’t believe the figures given for the porn industry--I suspect that the numbers are a lot smaller, and that there are a small percentage of porn consumers that consume the majority of the porn sold. But that’s just my guess.)

It is true, as Mark Twain said, that 90% of men masturbate, and the other 10% lie about it, and it is also true that there isn’t a man alive that hasn’t enjoyed looking at some kind of porn or other a few times if he has had the opportunity, but it is not true that every man is a potential john. Indeed, not every man is even a stripper spectator. I went to a few shows, and it was interesting at first in an almost anthropological sort of way, but once you’ve seen a couple of shows, you’ve seen them all, it gets dull as ditchwater listening to bad music, drinking over-priced drinks, and being surrounded by losers. I just don’t get the guys that are into that either.

I know from experience that street-level prostitution is a very nasty business. It is very dangerous work, where assault and rape is a matter of When, not If. It pays terribly, and workers are ruthlessly and violently exploited by pimps and gangs and dealers. And most of them are doing it out of desperation, usually driven by addiction.

There is a very old cultural myth, the hopeful belief in the carefree happy hooker, the prostitute with the heart of gold, the satisfied professional. And I am sure there are some, working as escorts and such, I have no direct knowledge, but in my experience, there are damn few working on the street. Most of the women working on the street that I have encountered are desperately unhappy; not unhappy because they are hooking, but more that they are hooking because they are unhappy, or perhaps that the same things that are making them unhappy are also driving them to sell their bodies.

My experiences have turned me from being bored by the whole notion of hiring a hooker, to being repulsed by the idea. When you have seen, when you know, why a hooker is doing what she is doing, what her life is like, only a monster or sociopath could want to engage in it. I’ve seen too many needle tracks, too many apprehended children, too many disappearances, too many bruises and cuts and fits of terror and panic.

In the cities I have worked in, and when I talk to my colleagues in other cities, the levels of street prostitution seem to be falling. There are probably a lot of factors behind this, but one of them seems to be smarter policing: most of the time the cops aren’t targeting street-walkers, they are targeting the johns. And johns tend to be a fairly frightened bunch, and easy to scare off with publicized busts and car confiscations and mandatory attendance at john-schools. But we really don’t understand the psychology at work; I really don’t think it is as simple as being horny and finding an outlet.

A group I was working with started recording the license plates of guys cruising the stroll, and we compiled a fairly large database before the government cracked down and stopped releasing information on the plates to us. But while we were running it, we discovered a few interesting things. First of all, the johns were coming from every part of the city, except the neighborhood of the stroll itself. Proportionally, they were coming from every neighborhood of the city: there was no distinction between high-income, middle-class, and poor neighborhoods. Which surprised us, we had figured the rich guys would patronize escorts, and poor guys wouldn’t have the cash. But it turns out that a desire to slum with a street-hooker crosses class and income lines. Which is I suppose bad news.

(And what probably helped in shutting us down was that a few of plates turned out to belong to fairly prominent/well-connected people in the community, hmm.)

The second thing that the data showed was that there weren’t all that many johns. What there was were high-repeat johns; the majority of the traffic were the same guys coming back again and again. Which I would take as good news; maybe I am right and most men are not in fact actual, and hopefully not potential, johns.

What we were starting to discover, when they shut us down, was that over half of the johns appeared to be married (and a significant number of the cars had baby or child seats in the back, ick). Hiring a hooker, it seemed, was not so much about seeking a source of sexual outlet, but a hobby or vocation or pastime of its own. Some men seem to like being johns, like hiring street workers for its own sake. Which seems rather strange to me. But perhaps some of the radfems are right about at least some men: they seem to like exploitative, power-imbalanced sex.

But please, they ain’t most of us.

I Am a Normal and Charming Guy

I am in a very strange point of my life. I love women. I feel the best when I believe that I am giving women some kind of joy....... physical or emotional. I believe that women that I met and know, want men that are taller, smarter, richer, better looking..........basically anybody except me. I fear rejection. I try to be calm and cool...... but my body language always gives me away & creeps women out some how. I start conversations easily, but I find myself saying too much or confusing women by saying things that they cannot understand or are too deep, for the amount of Vodka-Red Bulls that they have consumed. I get into relationships with intelligent women that sex drives are less than my own and lack real passion. I think I understand women, but have a very hard time communicating with them because of my own internal hangups or awkwardness.

I see escorts because it is a real fantasy come to life, and for a couple of hours, I feel passion, affection and tenderness. All with the intensity that I never find in my real life. These little moments keep me going for the rest of the year and give me something to smile about when I am back home at a bar or nightclub, talking to a woman who thinks she is way too good for me, but gives me her phone number anyway, asks me to call her, and strings me along for a few weeks of random dating. I wonder why I want to be normal and married. I wonder why I should listen to my friends when they tell me that so & so is way out of my league or that I shouldn't be too picky, I'm no catch? I think everyone should be selective and only spend time with people they like being around.

Montreal GFE Escorts are wonderful people that are damaged on the inside........... and I am even more damaged. I like that I can tell her anything truthfully and she has heard or done much worse. To her, my screams are whispers. To her I am a normal and charming guy. If you have not guessed, I am not married nor do I believe in cheating on a LTR GF, but I have no problems calling a escort when I am not in a relationship...........

Yes, we are all pretty much this simple.