Thursday, February 21, 2008

I Am Handsome and Successful

I've lived and traveled to many different cities and towns and find it remarkable how easy it is to find someone selling sex. The pricing and availability can vary greatly, but you can almost always find it in any town with a population of at least 100,000. The internet has certainly made it much, much easier to find working girls, and I think it has made a profound impact on the number of streetwalkers. I don't think all of the girls that used to be streetwalkers have placed ads on Craigslist or elsewhere, though. I used to live in a big city with a ton of streetwalkers when I was in my early twenties, and the majority of them would not get enough calls on Craigslist to feed or support themselves, in my opinion.

I've been married for close to 20 years now and have seen prostitutes off and on for the past 17 years. The first few years were pretty lean, and we did have sex on occasion. Our sex life has stopped. Completely. It's been over two years since I've had anything that would resemble sex with my wife, and this isn't the first time we've had a "dry spell." It wasn't uncommon for us to go six months without it, and my frustration and desire would eventually lead me to look elsewhere. Without being too egocentric, I am handsome and successful. Women at work and elsewhere do make passes at me, and I don't think it would be difficult at all to have affairs, but I actually don't want to cheat and hurt others.

Her working name is Adrianna, and she works at a massage studio in the city where I live. The first time I saw her, she was only 20 (I'm 39) and very, very attractive. Giving her a massage gives me the chance to fully appreciate her beautiful figure, soft tan skin, and be able to have a quiet conversation with her. She tells me about the birthday party her three-year-old went to over the weekend and how poorly behaved the other parents acted in the part of town where she lives. I can only partially relate, since my three-year-old is sheltered in my wealthy community in suburbia.

If Adrianna doesn't enjoy the sex we have, she surely should get an Academy Award. I've been with more than my fair share of prostitutes, both high priced ($500-plus) to streetwalker blowjobs ($20), and she is the best at making me feel that this was a mutually enjoyable session. Reflecting afterwards, I daydream about being the Richard Gere to her Pretty Woman. She is so easy going and pleasant without the rough edges (at least visible for an hour at a time) that I could see having my multi-millionaire lifestyle lavish her with love and affection.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

I Told Myself I Was Just Being Honest

Have I ever been with a prostitute?



Greed certainly. Adventure maybe. Relationship challenges absolutely. For a time I told myself I was just being honest and that the professional sex worker offered a degree of honesty. But that's all bullshit.

And what was my experience of the girl?

Girls. The experiences have been varied. Talent-wise, I've had three girlfriends that were better than any pro.

My first was in Tel Aviv. A Romanian girl--way too young for me but irresistibility beautiful. I felt like a thief but that didn't stop me.

The best pro was in Mexico. She was older, closer to my age. We did the hour thing in the hotel next to Adelita's. That's in Tijuana. I liked her so I made a deal. I told her, "Puedo una esposa por la Noche, no puta, una esposa. ¿Entiende? Y yo creo usted esta perfecta. ¿Entiende?" She smiled and said, "Yes, I understand. Perfectamente." I took her back to the hotel, past the disapproving doormen (it was not that kind of hotel).

She was a pro. She did know exactly what I wanted. Honestly, mostly we just lay there in bed watching Mexican TV, ¡El Channel Historico! She ordered me a fruit platter from room service. Not for her, for me. She took care of me. Mostly, we just held each other. Perfecto.

It made me realize that what I wanted was intimacy, not sex. I've come to see that as dangerous to try to get from a professional.

So I keep my experience limited to travel. I rarely use a professional at home. I understand what I want and what I can get are two very different things.

Monday, February 18, 2008

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.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

I Was Still Pretty Young

After a couple of years of living in a small city I had got into the habit of picking up the local free paper – every town has at least one. It has concert listings, usually has some indie band on the cover, or else some one of local interest and the articles and editorials delve into the minutia of local politics and local zoning squabbles. Every North American city I've ever visited seems to have these, and in most, the back few pages are always the same, some sex advice columnist and adds for escorts, phone sex chat lines and other "adult" services.

I'd been leafing through these for a long time, and over time had noticed that the escort ads really boiled down to two types. The short little text ads that really didn't say much, and the more elaborate ads for agencies. The agencies always have names like Sultry Rose and Secret Escape or what have you, and they always featured some stock model, or occasionally a pretty girl with an obscured face and the words, "Real Photo!" There was one ad that caught my eye more than the others, I don't know what it was, if it was nicer, or maybe it had run longer so I noticed it through repeated exposure – whatever the reason, one day I got curious and decided to call.

A girl answered, I asked how much and she said $80 for a half hour and $120 for an hour. I told her I'd never called before and wasn't sure what to ask next and she told me that I could chose a girl from the descriptions she had and then come in. It hadn't occurred to me that I would go there, I assumed that this was an escort agency and that they would send the girl to me. I asked about that and she said that they did do that, but that there was an additional charge. I told her not to worry and that I could come to them.

She started reading from a list of girls with descriptions like:

"On tonight is Amber who is a beautiful and sultry blonde, she's busty with long curly hair and blue eyes. Also available is Melissa, a slim and perky brunette, she's 21 years old and has a playful attitude."


It was a little weird, like choosing from a menu, and I couldn't stop wondering who wrote the little descriptions, if the girls had to do them themselves or if the agency did it for them. I let her prattle on for a bit and then said, "Listen, I'm 22, if possible, I just want a pretty girl my age." She laughed and suggested a girl, gave me an address and instructions on where to park and then told me to be there in 45 minutes.

The address was a little bit of a surprise, I had a couple of friends that lived near there and it seemed like a normal white bread neighborhood. I drank a beer, then drove over. The house was basically a normal house, set a little further back from the street than the others on the block, and surrounded by high hedges on both sides. Because it was near the corner of the street and because of all the trees and hedges in the neighborhood, it occurred to me that the neighbors wouldn't see men coming and going at weird hours.

I walked up to the front door, rang the bell and was let in.

The inside looked like a normal house, if not a little darker than normal since all the curtains were drawn. The woman who let me in was a really pretty, tall slim with Italian looks; long straight black hair, dark eyes and a nice smile. She wasn't wearing anything special, just jeans and a black sweater, and she wasn't wearing any make up. She asked my name and who I was here to see. I had forgotten the name of the girl they had suggested so she went into the other room to ask. When she came back out, she had a bit of an embarrassed smile. She said that the girl I had requested was running very late, and if I wanted, I could choose from one of the other girls that were there.

"What about you?" She seemed genuinely surprised and oddly enough, a little flattered, at the suggestion and said that she didn't usually do that kind of work, that she was really mostly an exotic dancer. After a second's hesitation, she smiled and asked if I was sure I didn't want to see any of the other girls. I was sure, this girl was hot, and she seemed really nice.

She sort of smiled and shrugged and led me into a bedroom. She seemed to suddenly be seized with a bought of self-consciousness and started apologizing for not being properly shaved "down there", not having any make up on, and generally looking like a mess. I laughed at her, told her I thought she was really beautiful, and that I was really excited. She asked if I had done anything like this before, and in a quick bout of forgetfulness, I told her that this was my first time. I gave her the money, $80 for a half hour, and she left the room for a minute.

Before leaving she told me to take off my clothes and to try to relax. I was nervous at first, but there was something just so genuine about this girl that I did start to relax. I stripped down to my boxers and sat on the bed, wondering what to do next. She must have decided that I would have at least asked to see the other girls if I didn't think she was attractive, because her little bout of self-consciousness seemed to disappear when she came back. She started to wiggle out of her clothes in a sort of hurried strip tease, not really dancing, but clearly putting on a show.

Now, this woman was probably at least 5 or 6 years older than me, maybe even more, but she was smoking hot. She had a dancer's tight body with great abs and an awesome ass and legs. I couldn't tell if her boobs were real, but they seemed big for such a trim figure, definitely C-cups, and perky. When she dropped her bra and panties, I was incredibly turned on. She told me to lie on my stomach and she'd start me with a back rub.

I was a little annoyed actually, because I just wanted to look and touch, but I did what I was told and let her rub my back. In retrospect, it was really great. It helped me relax, it was intimate without being too intimate. We made small talk as she rubbed my back, and she asked why a young, good looking guy was hiring a pro. (That's the word she used, "a pro".) I told her the truth, that it was curiosity mostly, that I'd been noticing the ads in the newspaper for a long time and I just got horny. University was great for getting laid, but a little unpredictable, it always seemed to be feast or famine when it came to girls on campus. She laughed and asked me about what I was studying, where I was from and told me a little about herself.

Eventually I turned over and things got really fun. I kissed her almost all over, she did the same to me and then, after pausing to add a little lube and put on a condom, we got down to the actual sex.

It was awesome! It didn't last nearly as long as I would have liked, maybe 10 minutes total, but it was a great 10 minutes. She seemed to be genuinely trying to enjoy herself, which really turned me on. Since then, I've really enjoyed sex with a pro where it was all about me, but that time, I really liked that she was trying to get off too (or did a convincing acting job). She was even telling me where to rub or what positions were working for her. She obviously didn't get off, but she really turned up the heat when it became obvious that I was getting close. Between coaxing, talking dirty and generally encouraging me to increase tempo and depth of the thrust… man, great orgasm. I've had a lot of mediocre sex with pros, and a lot of good sex with pros… but that time still stands out as one of the best.

Afterwards she lay there with me for a few minutes before getting up to get me a hot towel to clean up. She put on a little kimono and came back with stuff for me to clean up. I was still pretty young, and by the time she came back, the sight of her in her half open kimono was enough to get me hard again. I didn't ask for another go however, because I didn't have any more money. I cleaned up, got dressed and left in a pretty good mood.

This was the start of a pretty good little working relationship with this agency, even as it changed and continually re-invented itself over the years. One thing, I did try to make another appointment to see the same girl, but they told me I must have been mistaken since she only did shows and bachelor parties, and she didn't sleep with clients. I tried to explain that "it was me" but I never managed to book another appointment. I considered hiring her as a stripper just to get her to my house, but they charged so much more for that that in the end, I just experimented with the other girls there.

Monday, February 4, 2008

I'm a State Investigator

I'm almost 41, and I went to my first "provider" (I'm known as a "hobbyist") in 1991 and have not stopped since. Craigslist has made it very easy, as my windows are short and monitored. 1991 was the year I cheated and my girlfriend and I haven't had sex since. I always do Incall (I go to them) instead of Outcall because I've heard nothing but horror stories from Outcall experiences... pimps, drivers, etc. I've got tons of stories: some good, some bad. I had a bad childhood with a heavy maternal influence, mostly negative. My views aren't worth bragging about.

Before I make a selection, I google the number, see if the pics match the number, if anyone's used the number before... there is a filtering process between the legit and illegit. I have a college degree and have a decent job; good looking and slightly overweight. I never had a problem getting girls but my area is so self-obsessed that it's easier to go & pay rather than meet, exchange numbers, do the dance, blah, blah, blah. In & out and it's done. A message to ladies: just because the sex spigot is turned off doesn't mean your man stopped having sex.

I keep a coded diary, in case it's discovered. 1 dot is oral, 2 dots is vaginal sex, and 2 connected dots is anal sex. In the event that someone questions the dots, they are associated with good/bad days: no dots are normal days, 1 dot is a good day, 2 dots is a great day, and 2 connected dots is the best day for that week. Before Craigslist, it took time to figure out where SW (streetwalkers) applied their trade. There are telltale signs about law enforcement, and I just smile, say nothing further, and drive away. I always ask girls if they want a ride. Cops will not get into the car, as they cannot control that situation. Normal girls will get in, and we'll make small talk, never discussing solicitation. I'll tell them they look really nice and inform them that they're so cute that I'm hard/erect/engorged (words to that effect). If they touch, grab, and yank, then we talk. The glove box is always locked, no rings, no watches, no extra keys, no necklaces, nothing that can be taken/ripped off should they decide to steal and jump out the passenger door. I downplay my job (it always comes up), and I tell them I do data entry. I drive a modest car. My filtering process is excellent, as my only scary event was when this girl tweaked, got really mad, and threatened to kick out the windshield to my car (in 1997). I told her we were driving straight to the police station, and she calmed down and I let her out.

As I age, I scale back, but stress is a trigger... looking at my diaries, intense stress pulls the trigger on finding providers. If I can get a handle on managing my stress - but then again, I view ejaculating as eating or breathing. Eventually the parts will not work the way I want them to work, so for the time being, I'll use what I have.

In my day job, I'm a state investigator, so it's ironic that I enforce laws. I'm against morality laws, as anyone who doesn't harm another should do what they want, whether it's finding a provider or smoke ganja. Cops should investigate nothing but real crimes like identity theft, bank robberies, rape, murder, etc. I view daily the corruption of state government ("The Wire" is the best comparison), as good people are castrated and morons/assholes are placed in positions where public service falls behind self-service. I keep thinking back to that line that Anthony Hopkins used in "Legends of the Fall." Oh yeah, organized religion is for those who have no internal morality compass & need outside assistance.

My mom was nuts, and aside from the mental illness, loved her wine and valium... Sundays was a real carnival, and me being the eldest bore the brunt of her wrath.