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'm Kind Of An Oddball Guy

I've paid for sex three times.

Once I was new to the West Coast and with no friends and I made eye contact with a pretty junkie walking down my street. We started talking and she asked me for money, so I proposed a trade. She was up for it so we walked to the atm and in the street she let me feel her breasts for a few minutes. It was a letdown, but I felt slightly thrilled. She was hot but sort of gross.

Several years later, I came home from a family visit late one night and was feeling energetic so I went to rent some pornos. As I was leaving the store I picked up a free magazine of ads for escorts, and when I got home I called one. She told me it would cost $300 on the phone and I agreed. When she got to my apartment she took the money down to her companion waiting in the car. Then she came back and wouldn't have sex with me! I was pissed. She was conning me. She finally did a strip tease while I masturbated, then left. I felt totally pissed and sad/ashamed hateful of myself and her. I basically resolved never to deal with prostitutes again because that was so shitty. It also made me somewhat misogynistic in a way.

A few years later I was driving on a rural highway and saw a sexy hitchhiker. I had this weird feeling so I turned around and picked her up. We drove for a while and talked, she was cool. When we got to my turnoff she said she needed to go another twenty miles and she would give me money if I would drive her the rest of the way. Instead I suggested that she give me a hand job instead and I would drive her. She said ok but only a handjob which was fine with me. That was a fairly pleasant experience overall even though it seemed kind of scandalous to me at the time.

The first and third weren't really formal prostitutes, but it was prostitution right, so I include them.

As for why, I'm kind of a oddball guy, I don't go to bars, and I am introverted, somewhat shy. My family of origin was dysfunctional and abusive, and touching and intimacy were never something I saw nice examples of until basically my twenties. I have had a number of serious girlfriends, but I tend to go a few years between them with practically zero hookups in between. Like most guys, I get very horny, and want someone to hold and touch. I don't feel like it's a desperate desire to avoid loneliness. It mostly feels like out of boredom and desire for physical stimulation and release.

I don't feel any regret or guilt consciously about these acts, though I wouldn't want people to know either.

It is sort of sad, but I do think paying/trading for sex has been around forever and serves a function.

I think it would be better if it was legal and not as marginalized where abuse and violence enter into it.

I don't think humans have figured out a functional form of sexual relationships. Traditional gender roles seem useless and non-productive, and these are generally mirrored in sexual roles and representation. Of course, that is true in prostitution as well, but to me it seems fairly rational and straightforward, which is more respectful of the participants than the unconscious charade psychodrama that usually constitutes regular romantic sex.

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've Seen Every Kind Of Hooker Going

I've often heard women wonder why men with sexy wives or girlfriends would solicit prostitutes. The answer really is simple: Even Marilyn Monroe could get a little boring after a few years, and having sex with other women is fun. Just like skiing is fun, or eating chocolate cake, or playing a slot machine, or riding a roller coaster. If you get over the guilt of the lying first. Or like me, if you are in an open relationship. Sex with a working girl is easier than a bar or party hook up, and they won't want to have a real serious relationship with you like 90 % of the women I've slept with. Some guys can't keep em, I can't get rid of them.

I've seen every kind of hooker going--classy hotel incalls, quickies, all nighters, girls who are brilliant and totally together and are just doing it for a year long lark and extra cash, siliconed strippers who show up totally high and bore you with their coke rant, and others keep telling you they are about to graduate school and quit the biz, only to see their online ads for years to come. Mostly it's fine, sometimes a blessing, sometimes depressing a little, but I love the simplicity of it. You make a phone call, she comes over, within minutes she's naked, you're fucking her, and then you are done. Both of us know what the rules are, with no discussion beforehand or questions after. Hook ups and dating are never that clear.

I like Asian girls (have since I was a teen). I like their skin, their soft features, their hair. I ordered one over in the middle of the day a month ago. I was very horny, and only wanted a little talk before sex, but after fucking her, cumming on her face and helping her clean up, it's always a good time to get to know someone with the remaining part of the hour. She was straight off the boat. With Human Trafficking being the boogie man of the 21st century, I wanted to find out how she came to NYC and this line of work.

She told me that she was a PE teacher in China, and that she knew of women who had married American men, and it had worked out well for them. She joined an agency, and was chosen by a man. He met her in China, her English was not very good, but he took her back to rural Pennsylvania. Her English improved, but the relationship did not. The man and his family told her she talked too loud. ("I am teacher," she protested. "I have to have voice that the children can hear!") The husband refused to teach her to drive, so she was stranded when he was away, which was often. It was too far to walk to the grocery store. He changed his mind about children and wanted her to go on birth control. There was no physical abuse, but it sounds like the typical man who would want a mail order bride--a socially impaired creep who wants a domestic doll, not a real human, and thought Chinese girls would complain less than USA women.

Eventually, she told me, they divorced, but he denied her a green card and refused to pay for plane fare back to China. (This process is a little sketchy--her English not so good). She bussed it to NYC, and went looking for work. She ran out of money, had no place to sleep. A woman told her about this. "Where I come from this is the worst type of work. But what can I do? I know nobody. I need to make money. To go back to China." She began to sob, and we held each other. I tried to tell her that everything can still work out, and that she could still have a family and not work like this.

I gave her my number, told her if she needed help with English or anything, call me. "We don't have to have sex," I told her. "Friends."

She has not called me, but I hope everything works out for her.

I Couldn't Shut the Fuck Up

I'm 31 years old and married. I lead a very vanilla life, but I've been intrigued by sex since I was six and my same-aged next door neighbor asked me to pull down my pants so she could see up close the difference between me and her.

I met my wife as a freshman in college, and we were married sometime later. I've had one relationship in my life, and while it's not boring or empty of sex, I was tempted by the ads in the back of the weekly arts paper in my town. My first appointment was nerve-wracking. Here I was, walking into a "spa" with the intention of exchanging money for sex. I was nervous, I was excited, I was anxious, I was sweaty. And I couldn't shut the fuck up. Apparently, my chattiness scared off the five-four, freckly brunette who I picked out of a lineup of blondes. I paid $60 for a naked "body rub" and walked out with an erection. Two weeks later, I tried my luck again at a "body rub" establishment. Again, after running my yap too long, I scared off the girl (a large-breasted blonde who I would later learn went to high school with me). $40 later, I left frustrated. I returned a week later, this time only speaking when spoken to. I received a back rub with a long, slow, enjoyable hand-job and a promise that more would be available in the future. Our visits became more frequent and elevated to full-on intercourse on a massage table.

I've had sessions with roughly 25 different providers and had intercourse with about half. Some provided the "girlfriend experience." Others provided a quick fuck. Some couldn't even speak English (the Korean spas in D.C. are repugnant, but I've been twice). Mostly, there were a series of half-hearted hand-jobs. I have found few girls who "are into the work." Most aren't, and you can usually tell when you say hello. Each time, when presented with a girl who would rather be watching TV than fuck me, I could have walked away, making an excuse about leaving my wallet in the car or the lights on. But, I never have. Why?

It could be the self-destructive nature of the visit. Giving over $100, $120, $250 of my hard-earned non-profit salary for disinterested hand-jobs, blow-jobs full of teeth, or a quick fuck is the pinnacle of self-hate. The 60 to 90 seconds of orgasm is the only part that feels good. The rest--withdrawing the money from an ATM, handing it to someone else, pumping a drug-addicted, Marlboro-reeking twentysomething who couldn't be more disinterested in me, the walk of shame, the residual condom smell, the distraction of regret, the three or four days of beating up on myself, sneaking in the shower so my wife doesn't smell the rubber, smoke, hairspray, or cheesy perfume--is hell.

But, I keep doing it. Sometimes I go once a week. Sometimes it's once a month. Other times it's longer. But, I always relapse... and that's what it feels like: a relapse. As I type this, I'm thinking about the new large-breasted blonde at the body rub joint near my office, and our session last week, and I want to visit her right now. Except I can't. I just called, and she's home sick today.

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've Always Been a Quiet, Shy Guy

I've always been a quiet, shy guy, overweight, and not very attractive. I've never had many relationships because I always let those things hold me back from even trying. I've only had sex with one girl and that was just twice, and it wasn't very good. So I guess I'm the perfect candidate for a prostitute, since my anxiety about rejection keeps me alone.

I always liked to read the ads on Craigslist, other online sites, and local free papers. I always thought about calling, but probably chickened out hundreds of times. One night when I was 27, I finally had the nerve to actually call one. It wasn't as bad as whatever I had imagined in my head. The conversation was easy, what kind of girl would you like, etc.? After hanging up, the real panic set in. Someone is actually coming over to my house. The rate was $150 which I carefully counted and had ready nearby.

About an hour later there was a knock at my door. I answer and there is a big guy and 2 pretty girls. The girl I had called for was a cute younger brunette with a nice body; I don't really remember the blond girl. I learned that the big guy drives them from place to place and he is also there to check the place out and make sure no one else is there for the girl's safety. So it started out with this guy going through every room of my house and looking in my closets. Now that I have this experience, I think escort agencies should let guys know about this, because I almost told them to leave right then. I was very nervous and looking for any excuse to call the whole thing off. I wasn't expecting a group of people to show up and go through my things.

After the inspection, the girls tried to upsell me to have both of them. I was shy enough with one girl, two was more than I'd know what to do with. That and I was very uncomfortable discussing this kind of stuff with a group of people. The guy and the other girl went out to the car and waited. The brunette girl explained that the $150 was for the agency. If I wanted anything more than for her to dance for me, it would cost more. I didn't know much about this stuff but was in no place to argue. It was almost kind of funny: I had to break open my piggy bank (I keep bills in it) to get more cash. I ended up scraping together another $100. For that amount, she agreed to dance for me while I masturbated. Not what I was hoping for but too shy to just say forget it. She had me take my shorts off and sit on the couch while she turned the TV to MTV2. She disrobed, handed me some lube and started dancing. I got hard after a minute or two and started stroking myself. It seemed like forever, maybe 10 minutes, nothing much is happening. I'm jerking, she's dancing, but it's just not happening.

Then a funny thing happens. I'm in a townhouse, and I can see my neighbors coming home through the crack in the window. The crack's not big, but in passing if they were to look, they can see in. My brain goes crazy. "Great. The couple next door is coming home, can hear the loud music, and see a naked girl dancing in my living room. Not to mention there is another couple parked in my driveway for no explicable reason. What are they going to think of me now?"

I just kept going. After a couple more minutes, the girl stops dancing and asks me if there is a problem, because clearly if you've been masturbating for about 15 minutes and nothing has happened, something is wrong. I just said no, and she went back to dancing. After another 5 minutes or so, I was finally able to come. She handed me a towel, got dressed, and that was it. She left.

I felt so stupid later. All I could think was that my neighbors now probably think I'm some weird pervert. That, and essentially I paid $250 to jerk off. I thought it was going to be something that made me happy, maybe even feel better about myself, or more confident. It was just the opposite: embarrassing, demoralizing, and depressing.

I Was on Anti-Depressants for a While

The first time was when I was 19, high on drugs and fed up with being a virgin. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a teenager, and this was one of the less stupid things. My parents were out of town, and I called an escort. An hour later a skinny, not unattractive blond woman at least six years older than me stood at my door. She was friendly, erotic and obviously quite experienced. It was good, though I wouldn't call it fantastic, and I wasn't a virgin anymore.

My experiences with paid sex have been varied since then. I don't consider myself a 'regular', as I don't have a fixed agency nor a specific brothel, and I don't do it more than maybe a few times a year. But I'm probably the type of guy the sex industry thrives on.

In my mid twenties I was on anti-depressants for a while. One of the side effects of the drugs was that I was perpetually horny, and ironically enough the drugs also made it very hard for me to reach orgasm. I went to a brothel I'd heard from through an acquaintance, the first time I'd ever been in a brothel. Until then escort agencies had been my suppliers of choice.

The girl was stunning. I could barely believe she was in the industry. She turned out to be distant, however, and a bit too professional. I didn't reach orgasm, which I assured her was no fault on her part, and the look she gave me told me she was well-aware that it wasn't her fault.

I quit the anti-depressants shortly after that, having overcome my demons in a more traditional way - by growing up. I continued with the occasional escapade with working girls, when I could afford it and was sufficiently deprived. As my career advanced and my salary increased, so did my visits to brothels become more frequent. I even gave a friend of mine a brothel-visit as a birthday present. He appreciated it.

In my country prostitution is legal and brothels have standards of safety and hygiene to adhere to. As such I've never been too worried about the health of the working girls I've been with, though of course condoms are always used. I wouldn't want to go without them. The thing is, I like going down on women. I like it a lot. The last time I made a visit, I chose this tall, thin brunette with nipple piercings topping her small breasts and a few tasteful tattoos adorning her lean frame. Her eyes smiled as she was introduced to me, and more than anything else that's why I picked her. I went down on her for a full half hour, and after she came (or expertly faked it) she panted that this didn't happen often to her. Whether it was professional courtesy or not, I appreciated the comment. The subsequent fuck was intense and a lot of fun, as if she wanted to repay me. A memorable experience.

And probably my last one. That visit was made when I'd been dating someone for a few weeks. The sex with my new girlfriend wasn't great and she didn't enjoy receiving oral, hence my urge to visit a brothel again. I cheated on her, and now that our relationship has grown it bothers me more than it did then. The sex is still bland, but that is something we can work on, and our emotional bond is much more valuable to me. She hasn't been with many men, and while she knows I've had a more active sex life than her, I haven't the heart to tell her most of my sexual partners were paid ones. Even in my country that's a taboo, a stigma that marks you as a loser. I disagree with it wholeheartedly, but that doesn't make the prejudice go away.

I Went to This Sex Club

I wasn't sure about writing this, like it's something that's sort of looked at askance by so much of society, right? But I was talking to some friends about it, and I actually feel pretty good about it on the whole, so here's the story - google archiving be damned. See, in April of 2007 I went to this sex club. Partytreff, they call it. I'd been planning it for a while, but not concretely - just as a vague vision, an event lying hidden somewhere within the folds of future. It was something that I figured I should do for the experience, just so I wouldn’t be lying on my deathbed someday and just wishing that I had the balls to go and do it when I was younger. But I didn’t really ever think of doing it for real until I was having a really terrible depressing weekend and started looking around online for something like it. I looked at a bunch of websites and forums before finding one that I thought would be good. Wilkommen! the site said, Spass sooft Du willst!

So wtf is a partytreff? Wikipedia says this: “Partytreffs and Pauschalclubs are a variation on partner-swapping swing clubs with (sometimes, but not always) paid prostitutes in attendance, as well as 'amateur' women and couples. Single men pay a flat-rate entrance charge of about 80 to 120 euros, which includes food, drink and unlimited sex sessions, with the added twist that these are performed in the open in full view of all the guests. Women normally pay a low or zero entrance charge.”

So yeah, that was pretty much exactly it, wikipedia knows what it’s talking about. This was the weekend when I found out that my ex had a new boyfriend and was going away with him for the weekend, and I was morose, somewhat filled with self-loathing. Like why the fuck was the ex situation bothering me so much? In the abstract I really hate the concept of jealousy, like I feel it implies some sort of false ownership or something, but the thought of her strolling in the sunshine with this guy, holding hands and laughing and later passionately falling into bed – that really burned me up, especially as I was sitting at home without a thing to do for the entire weekend. I could see myself just lying on the couch for 72 hours (3 day weekend), tv on but not paying attention, stewing in my own misery and just generally feeling impotent and at the mercy of my miserable brain chemistry. Suppose I could’ve tried to alter my senses in other ways, but isn’t there something depressing about getting drunk or stoned or something to forget your misery? Anyway, I did some quick internet research, arranged a rental car and hit the road. Figured that I needed to get laid, and wasn’t in the right place mentally to go meet a stranger and connect with them and try to bring them home…

So the place I went to was in Germany, about an hour and a half from my place, in this little town called Dorsten-Wulfen. The drive up was pretty uneventful, but as I was pulling into the parking lot (the place was just a normal large-ish house that somehow existed in the middle of an office complex), this terrible almost shaking nervousness overwhelmed me, kind of the same feeling I used to get when I was like 13 and trying to nonchalantly flip through a playboy at a friend’s house or something. But I parked, took a deep breath, picked up my book and keys and rang the doorbell. This friendly looking guy in his mid-40’s opened up, gestured me in, and started speaking pretty fast in German. Somehow managed to piece together a bit of what he was saying, gave him a fistful of cash (110 euros, it was usually 88 but that Saturday was more expensive for some reason), was handed a towel and a locker key, and went downstairs to change. There were a few other guys down there, all in their 40’s or 50’s (I'm 28) with huge beer bellies, and we exchanged friendly nods as I put my clothes in the locker and put on the towel. Then upstairs, and over to the bar, where the friendly guy that welcomed me in gave me a big smile and asked what I would like to drink. There was absolutely nobody at the bar except for these two girls, one probably in her early 20’s, blond and nicely shaped, pretty hot, and the other probably in her late 30’s or so, quite a bit skinnier than the blond girl but still sort of attractive. Oh, both were just in their undies, bra and panties, but that somehow seemed normal since I was just wearing a towel. So I got a glass of water and sat down with them since they gestured me over, and we just sort of talked awkwardly about standard nothingness for a few minutes before they gave each other a look and both stood up and grabbed me by the hand and led me upstairs.

Ok, so this place is just like a house, but with somewhat tacky decoration in a faux-wealthy sort of way. Like shiny marble everywhere and fake gold banisters and red velvet curtains and black leather couches and stuff. But otherwise just like a house, except for this enormous bed that dominated the main room on the upper floor. This thing was seriously huge, like probably 20 feet by 15 feet or so, just an enormous thing that would fill up almost my whole living room. There were these two couples already on it, just going at it on either side, but the middle was completely empty, the space remaining probably the size of a whole king-sized bed, perhaps bigger. The girls jumped on the bed, told me to lay my towel down beneath me and gestured that I should lie on my back. Then the sex started, blowjobs and caresses and face-sittings and fucking with both of these semi-hot girls, and the strangest thing about it was how quickly I had suddenly found myself in the midst of all of this, like just a few minutes earlier I was sitting in my car with a book in my hand, wondering if I should go through with this. Surreal.

So pretty much instantly after I came they both turned into these gentle cuddlers where they had been wild tiger women a few seconds earlier, and we just sort of lay there and talked for a little while before they pointed me towards the showers and slapped my ass out of bed. So I showered (antibacterial soap), toweled off and went downstairs for some food. Oh, and just to be clear, everything was done in as safe a way as possible really – condoms and antibacterial wet-wipes and stuff, which surprisingly didn’t detract from the whole flow of things – I guess having your crotch wet-wiped is easy to ignore when someone else is simultaneously kissing your neck and putting your hands on their tits.

Anyway, they had a nice buffet down in the dining room, very german – roast pork, mashed potatoes, red-cabbage-and-apple, bread and cheese, that sort of thing. Ate out on the porch with my book, took it easy for a while and just generally recuperated, had a free beer. Later went in the hot tub, sat there for probably an hour or so, ate some more food, drank some more drinks, used the sauna, and had sex with 7 or 8 other
women, probably 3 of them really really hot, the others just normally sexy. I’d say there were about 20 girls working there, and at the busiest part of the night there were probably 30 guys in the building, a real mix from pretty hot muscular young dudes to a whole bunch of fat middle aged men. Oh, and I’m no superman – when I was in India I bought some Viagra, and early in the evening I took half a pill. What better place to test it, right? Well it works quite impressively, at least for me. There’s no way I could fuck 8 or 9 girls in an evening without it..

The highlight of the night for me was when everyone congregated in the living room and the lights were dimmed as the girls brought out this big inflatable mattress and put it in the middle of the room. A few of them got onto it and started sort of dancing to the music and stripping and generally doing sexy things, and pretty soon this older german fellow with a big grin on his face jumped off the sofa and just dived right in,
and everybody really got a kick out of that, laughing and cheering that such an old fat dude was so ballsy, and after a minute or two these other girls who were sitting with us on the couches started going down on us while this was all going on, and at one point there’s this incredibly sexy girl giving me a blowjob, and I look to my left and there’s this fat middle eastern guy with the biggest grin on his face next to me on the sofa also receiving a bj from an equally hot girl, and we just looked at each other and grinned and shared a can-you-believe-this-is-happening?! look. A little bit later I finally hooked up with the girl I thought was the hottest of them all, kind of a claudia schiffer lookalike but not nearly as leggy, and she gave me an almost painfully powerful blowjob before guiding me into her up against the wall, and then she actually put her legs around me so I was holding her, and we fucked standing up for a while with me carrying her, eventually bouncing her up and down and sort of staggering around the room, and a bunch of guys were good naturedly cheering me on 'cause they could see it was a real powerful exertion, and meanwhile both me and the girl just burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all until the laughter wilted my boner and I put her down. And then I went to the bar to get a drink and the older middle eastern guy that had been next to me on the couch gave me this huge high-five while other dudes were giving me pats on the back and stuff. I dunno, it was really really nice, like it was good natured camaraderie in the midst of what we all usually take so seriously, and it really highlighted just how absurd so many of our societal norms can be when you take them out of their normal context.

Anyway, it was all a really positive experience for me – I had some nice conversations with a few of the girls, ate some wonderful food, relaxed in the hot tub, spent some hours in the sauna, read quite a bit of a book that I was really enjoying, and had a really soul-healing bit of physical exertion with 9 hot girls. As long as I’m not in a relationship, I’ll gladly go again with a friend if anyone feels like going with me – I think the one thing that could’ve made it a lot better would be someone to hang out with and talk to during the day instead of just being there with my book. Guess I could’ve tried to make friends with the other guys there, but my German’s really really terrible, and whenever I tried to communicate with people it just didn’t really work. At any rate, it was a good experience for someone in the throes of post-relationship stress.

I Was on the Verge of Losing It

I'm 28, a moderately successful and over-educated white guy and I've been seeing prostitutes for about 2 years now.

It started after a really horrible break-up, a death in my family and a job loss all occurred within the same 3 month period. I was dealing with things that were just awful and horrid (wakes, unemployment, depression, relationship dramatics) all the time and I was on the verge of losing it. I did have an inheritance so money wasn't tight at least.

I was on Craigslist one night, bored, lonely and horny. So I wandered to the Erotic Services section. I was pretty put off by most of the ads. I consider myself very liberal and think of the sex industry as generally pretty exploitive and cruel. Seeing all the ads that were clearly put up by very desperate women was anti-arousing really.

Then I saw B's posting. She was a curvy artist who described herself as a 'courtesan'. She posted a Jean-Leon Gerome painting of a reclining Harem girl instead of a face picture. I was curious, called her and booked a session.

She came to my place and was absolutely wonderful. We talked about art, music sex-positive porn, genderfucking, queer theory and BDSM. I've always had kink in my heart but hearing someone so open, so free in expressing it was wonderful. She was an amazing lover and I enjoyed her company as much as the sex. I felt free to experiment, to play and because it was a professional exchange I didn't feel as shy. Not that I was disrespectful of her, but asking your girlfriend to us a strap-on has a lot more nuances to it than asking your 'courtesan'.

I started seeing her once or twice a month and have kept on doing so even though I've been in relationships. I won't lie and say I don't think of it as cheating, it is. I finally stopped when I met a woman who, to be honest, shared a lot of similarities with B. I told B about this and she wished me nothing but happiness. We've spoken a few times since and seen each other socially. It's a bit like work friends after one person has moved to a different job.

B was an eye-opener in a lot of ways. Most of all, she showed me what I really wanted in a partner. My girlfriends before had been very much the type of women I thought my family or friends would approve of. After B I knew I wanted someone who shared not only my kinks but my passions as well. I'm really grateful to her. I've had friends comment on how I've changed and how I've become so much more confident and assured. In no small measure, B is responsible for that.