Letters from Johns

I Had Gone On A Bender

2008-12-30T05:42:00.001-05:00

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 Was A Thirty Four Year Old Virgin

2008-12-29T18:43:00.003-05:00

I was a thirty four year old virgin when I first visited a prostitute.

I've always been shy and a bit of a computer geek, and somehow I missed out on opportunities at college and university that might have got my sex life off to a start. Once I graduated I ended up in an IT job, full of other single male geeks. None of us had much in the way of a social life, but I was furthering my career so it didn't seem to matter much. It was only when I hit thirty that I started to worry about the other things missing from my life. At that point, my age and lack of experience were a major worry. I was tempted by online dating, but knew that anyone I might meet would be more sexually experienced than me, and this became a major stumbling block.

At one point, I seriously considered sexual surrogate therapy, but in the end the price put me off. It did, however, make me start thinking about paying for sex, but at a different level. Websites and forums are what I do, and mostly how I interact with other people, so it didn't take me long to find forums devoted to escort work. I researched diligently, read up on the pros and cons, and the dangers, health and otherwise, of seeing escorts. The forums were an eye opener. The escorts posting sounded genuine, even relatively normal, and not the junkies I'd expected. I made up my mind to go for it.

It was still nearly a year before my first experience. I finally selected a woman in a town miles from home, about ten years older than me. I chose a more mature woman, as I felt it would be easier, somehow, to confess my inexperience to her than it would be to a younger girl. The experience itself was mixed. My performance was as you might expect from a first timer, but she was sympathetic and understanding. She didn't clock watch, and I enjoyed her company as much as the sexual activity. I left with a feeling of relief that I'd got it over with, that I was no longer a virgin.

After that, I found other girls local to me. I've had some fantastic experiences and none of the girls have fitted the media mould, here in the UK at least, of trafficked Eastern Europeans or drug addicts. There was the single mum of 19, who was saving to put herself through a college course to get a professional qualification (and she did, successfully, and gave up the escorting to take a less well paid job in her chosen field). There was the recent graduate, making some extra cash while deciding what career path to take. There was the swinger, who had decided that if she was going to do it anyway, she might as well get paid for it. There have been several students, who will leave college without the debt that weighs down their peers.

Overall, more of the experiences have been good than bad. I accept that I'm working at the middle to upper end of the market, but most of the girls I've seen have been intelligent and good company and I put that down to the amount of effort I put in to selection. I'm generally very careful in who I choose, and the less successful experiences have always come when I let myself make a rushed decision.

My plan was for it to be a short term fix, a start towards a normal life and a way of catching up with experiences I should have had ten years ago. It's worked so well, that it's becoming a lifestyle choice. I think I prefer it this way.

I Demeaned Myself

2008-12-23T15:28:00.002-05:00

I don’t know why, but I still had the expectation that the actual act could equate to what I fantasized about.

The girl was older, more experienced, yet still human about it, but it was clearly just another job for her. What rankled about the experience other than the disappointing sex (for reasons stated below) was the “pussyfooting” (no pun intended) around that occurred prior to the act, the pretence of actual interest. Yet that could be a sign of my masculine orientation, direct and to the point. It may also have something to do with the country I’m in presently.

I mean the actual act itself is merely a form of exercise…yet as much as I reduced it down to its physical limits, I still denied that I had the expectation of sexual chemistry. Going into it with this expectation, conscious or not, rendered the whole act unsatisfying. It was really quite mechanical, we entered the room, got naked and got to business, but the actual act it self just lacked a certain polarity. I mean the energy with which we went about it was almost the same as washing the car.

I’m no Casanova and I’m sure it comes across in how I write but I must admit that sex as an act can not just be reduced to its physical components, there has to be an element of sexual attraction but, then I can only speak for myself, to do otherwise would be arrogant and patronizing.

It may just be that my issue is that I lack a horribly traumatic past or experience that renders my sexual expectations quite low, such that I can merely desire it as a form of exercise, much like another man may favour swimming over running.

I understand with sudden clarity why many women and some men are against the practice, much like I understand people’s objections towards drug use. In particular, the charge that prostitution demeans women but I must admit, that I felt like I demeaned myself, bartering with this woman like I would over a cloth shirt. In essence, if I demean another person what does that act imply about my own character?

And I don’t mean, “what do people think about what I did?”, I’m referring to my own self-image, I feel like I lowered my standards for myself, not by paying for the services of a prostitute but by haggling over the price of the service. As it stands, I don’t regret utilizing the service of a prostitute, as I’ve learnt more than a single lesson, through just one act but I can honestly admit that I sincerely doubt I’d procure such services again.

I Have A Sexual Fantasy That I Don't Talk About With Anyone

2008-12-02T15:33:00.007-05:00

I have a sexual fantasy that I don't talk about with anyone. It's far from my only fantasy, but this one is very specific and possibly quite brutal, depending on whom you ask. I've never acted it out -- a bit too dangerous, really -- though I've seen it acted out on video many times. I've only told this fantasy to one woman, a girl I dated in college. She was a little freaked out at the time, but she seemed to get over it -- until several years later, when we reconnected online and she ended up sending an email all her friends and family, describing my fantasy and portraying me as a potential serial killer.

I've never forgiven her for that. I've also never told anyone else about this fantasy because of what she did...

Other than that, I'm an ordinary cubicle worker who's not so lucky with women. I met a woman last year who would become my first sex partner in about seven years. (I had gotten to 2nd base with many women in that span, including two long-term girlfriends, but that was it.) We only dated for six months, but we had fantastic sex during that period. However, she dumped me last spring and quickly hooked up with someone else, which left me feeling like a fool.

After that, some of my friends convinced me to come out to Las Vegas and party with them -- to help me forget about her, they said. So I set aside some money and went out there to meet them. I thought I might sample a working girl while I was out there, mostly to satisfy a curiosity. I considered hiring a prostitute back home just to get reacquainted with sex again, but I was hesitant to spend that much cash. Most of the escorts I found online were not cheap.

Then I won big at the tables my second day in town. In my mind, the money barrier was gone. So I trolled the hotel casino late one night to see what I could see. Sure enough, I spotted a very attractive young woman sitting with a drink at a slot machine -- not drinking and not playing, but just waiting for a guy like me to come by. We sussed each other out very quickly and went back to my room. Once there, we agreed on a price and began.

She was very professional and made me feel comfortable with the experience... until we were about a minute into it. Then she looked me in the eye and asked, "What's your kink, baby?"

I froze. I was that guarded about my fantasy that I couldn't bring myself to describe it to her. This was a working girl in Vegas who had probably heard far worse fantasies than mine, and chances are we would never cross paths again. Still, I was too scared to tell her my kink for fear that she might freak out, just like that girl from my college days did.

I tried to change the subject and change positions, but I started having trouble keeping my erection full -- something that almost always happens to me the first time I have sex with a new partner, but my fear might have had something to do with it, too. Unfortunately, when I needed a break, she used that as a prime opportunity to hit me up for more cash. It was then that I realized something: this was just a job to her. She wanted to get me off and get out. That left me a little cold. I did give her the extra money -- I had it available, and really, I wanted to finish up as much as she did at that point. She did eventually bring me to orgasm, and she stayed to talk with me for a few minutes afterward, apologizing for making me feel uncomfortable.

I have no regrets about the experience. In fact, I'm glad I did it, because it made me realize that a working girl can't give me the type of sexual experience I really want. My encounter with this particular woman lacked the kind of intimacy I had with previous girlfriends. (At one point, she seemed to recoil when I kissed her chest.) I'd prefer a sex partner who wants to be there and wants to come with me, too, rather than someone who just sees it as her job to get me off and get it over with. Perhaps other working girls aren't this bad, but because of that, I probably wouldn't do something like this again.

The experience also made me realize that I have some major trust issues to sort out. Maybe one day I'll feel more comfortable talking about this fantasy of mine with a girlfriend. I suspect, though, that this day is still a long way off.

I Found A Trailer On The Outskirts Of Town

2008-11-20T21:28:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-10T07:12:00.005-05:00

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 Am A Gentleman

2008-11-07T06:50:00.003-05:00

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 Am Deathly Afraid Of Intimacy

2008-11-06T07:11:00.002-05:00

In the simplest terms, I got into girls because ... I lost *the* girl.

I lost her, and I cried every day.

I missed her, but what's more, deep down inside, I felt like I really had *lost* her.

I started seeing girls I guess to soften, to dampen the pain, to somehow recreate that intimacy. (Which, of course, as you well know, never happens.)

What's odd is, there was one time I met a girl, who, upon us talking (I talked to lots of these girls, heard their stories), told me she was doing this to prove to the world that she was a good lover. I knew from the way she talked about a broken-up relationship that she somehow felt she wasn't a good lover with her man, and this was her way of proving to the universe (i.e. herself), that she was good, adept.

I still ask myself what was I doing going to those girls. It was to deaden the pain of losing the one I cared for the most.

It was a loss that still shatters me inside. It still hurts.

I guess we reach for many vices, many addictions -- alcohol, drugs -- to kill the pain. To not let ourselves feel it.

I guess I'm tired of feeling it, the pain. But my head is inexorably screwed up, and I see there is a component to my body that is addicted to this stuff. All at the expense of intimacy.

I guess intimacy is what I miss most. I am deathly afraid of intimacy because I loved her so much and I lost her, that putting myself out there -- putting my heart out there again -- terrifies me.

It sounds silly to write it as words. It sounds superficial, somehow. Like it doesn't mean much. But the pain, it's hard to write about, hard to articulate as words.

It's more a feeling, a terror, a place my brain doesn't want to go.

But I have to admit, I miss her. I miss *that* -- that joy, that closeness we had. I miss it more than anything. I miss it more than the world.

I have to admit to myself that this is an addiction. The last time I cuddled with a woman, I can't remember when. I miss it. I miss having a family. I miss having love. I try to remember what that's like. For some reason I have problems thinking. There's a part of my brain that is unable to process this. This is definitely a cognitive problem, related to the addiction.

But I know I got into it as a way to escape the pain. I just wish the pain was not there anymore.

I hate my family. Because I once reached out to them for help and they turned me away. What are you supposed to do, when you need help, and ask for it, and are told no? That hurts as much as the addiction.

I guess I am stuck in blame, but the alternative, to take full responsibility for my life, means to be completely alone. And "alone" is what gets me reaching for it again. I've thought of a twelve-step group, a group to talk about these issues, perhaps this is what I need.

Moreover I just need friends.

I want my life back.

I Wanted To Kill Myself

2008-11-05T06:17:00.005-05:00

I have the usual sob story: usual beatings from my dad, his psychological torture, absence of the most beneficial parenting, severe neglect, first generation immigrant experience, raped by my cousin at age 12, social ostracism, extremely repressive Christian environment and the list goes on. Consequently, I grew up being alone, which perpetuates that state, and recently I live with an anxiety disorder that is sometimes debilitating.

By age 29, I became extremely frustrated about my virginity, and decided to finally to visit an SP. I was in Amsterdam. At first, in the oversized Jacuzzi, she caressed my body with hers. This was the first time I touched a woman in a sexual manner. I felt like a human being, and almost cried. We moved on to the bed, but she laughed at me. She positioned her body so that it was difficult for me to have intercourse and eventually she told me to stop when I began to do it with feeling. Another SP had to take over to finish me, but fortunately she was comforting though lacked engagement. After it was over, she counseled me. (She and the other woman were Dutch, and as expected their English was perfect.) One of the advices she gave me was how it does not feel good without love. I wish I could find love, but I know that is not possible for me. That night I felt disgusted, angry and hated myself for seeing an SP. I wanted to kill myself. I went completely against my own moral convictions and support of feminism. The experience was not pleasurable at all, but rather very nerve racking and riddled with guilt throughout the whole act. It was something to simply do it and get it out of the way, so that I would be just like other non-virgin men.

I had two more days left in Amsterdam, so I decided to give it one more try and visited another agency. She was Belgian. She spoke with a French accent, so I had a difficult time comprehending her. Still, she was more comforting and psychologically put me at ease right away. She was affectionate, pretty and even erotic. She gave me a massage, which really put me at ease physically, and when we were doing it she appeared to be enjoying it as well. Of course, she was acting, but I appreciated her effort for a loser like me. I finally felt good, had that “afterglow,” mood of calm and strangely felt free. I ruminated if the moment of orgasm was the only possible authentic state of freedom. She explained something to me that lingered while taking a walk after visiting her, which was that visiting an independent SP or reputable agency was a good and healthy thing, as long as I do not over indulge, because sex is a necessary human experience.

Perhaps, I was becoming a corrupt scum, or I was becoming desensitized to seeing an SP. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss was temporary as all experiences of authenticity are temporary, and I visited SP’s occasionally since then to seek respite from the severe feeling of loneliness. Having discovered what it feels like to be with someone, even with simulated intimacy, I began to long for it more and more. Still, even though the guilt and self-hate is not to the degree that it was when I first started seeing SPs, it continues and sometimes erupts with weight.

I am now 40 years of age, and I have never been with any woman, other than SP’s, because I have always been rejected. However, I also have not tried to initiate even a conversation with most women because of my debilitating anxiety, so I seek the comfort of intimacy with independent SP's to deal with the misery. I realize now that, as a human being, we all need to be touched to at least survive and live on, but once my mom dies I have no reason to live. I have no close or trust worthy friends, and so the loneliness is intense. I am damaged-goods, so even if someone would want me I can’t allow my baggage to affect her life in a negative manner. Therefore, I am not allowed a conventional relationship.

I Was Haunted

2008-10-01T06:56:00.004-04:00

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've Never Told Anyone This Story Before

2008-08-11T20:42:00.004-04:00

I've never told anyone this story before.

I recently had unprotected sex with an escort. At our previous session, she had implicitly offered to let me have sex with her without a condom with no extra charge requested or required. I chickened out at the time and used a condom anyway. My instincts told me that I should not see her again, that sex with her would be unsafe and that it was time to move to a different escort. For the next two months, I stayed away from her and all escorts. But she haunted my thoughts daily--all I could think about was having sex with her, raw and uncovered. I finally gave in to temptation and saw her, knowing that she wanted me to fuck her bareback. I gave her exactly what she (and I) wanted and it was some of the best sex I've ever had.

Now I've been seeing escorts for over two years, ever since I found out about the various escort internet boards, and have seen around a dozen different women. Though I've never contracted anything or even really worried about it, this experience freaked me out about contracting an STD. I wondered if every twinge or irritation in my crotch was some nasty bacterial infection or possibly worse. I had to think of excuses not have sex with my wife in the event that I would infect her and then she would find out, divorce me, take custody of my children and basically ruin my life. I couldn't use the family doctor to get STD tested--I didn't want to risk a positive result that would have to be reported to the State who would eventually notify my wife. I had to drive to another city and use an anonymous testing center under a pseudonym, and then pay for the service in cash so my insurance bill would not show up at the house. That week while waiting for my full test results was one of the longest weeks in my life. I could not sleep at night. I prayed to God that if the results were negative, I would give up this vice altogether.

Luckily all test results were negative--I was clean. It has been more than a month since my STD tests and I still have some psychosomatic symptoms that I occasionally worry about. I have not seen an escort since my last encounter, but the temptation is still very much there. I'm trying to understand why I do what I do--part of it is for the sex (though I have an obliging if unenthusiastic wife), but also because having sex with other women makes me feel sexy and respected. I've worked hard for years to provide for my family and to do all the right things--sometimes I just want to be appreciated as a man and to have my inner needs met, to feel wanted instead of just accommodated. I am under no illusions that these women see me for any reason other than the money, but the carnal fulfillment, and ego gratification is very had to ignore. I'm hoping, praying that this latest episode will shock me into giving this up for good but somehow in my gut I know that I will lose again to temptation. It's just too easy to do. And I like it too much.

I'm Only Going To Be Alive Once

2008-07-29T16:23:00.002-04:00

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 Partook

2008-07-25T22:23:00.001-04:00

My wife at the time had left me, and my confidence was at an all-time low.

I got on one of those phone lines and replied to an "exotic Asian female" as she put it.

I show up at her apartment, and she ushers me to her back bedroom where she has a myriad of sex toys and an half full ashtray.

She comes into the room and starts smoking crack.

I had never smoked crack, but she offered, and my mind wasn't right, so I partook.

Next thing I know, we're high on crack and she's ready to do it.

It was very mechanical and I had trouble getting into it.

After 30 minutes, she said my time was up and we hung out and smoked yet more crack.

I ended up spending $600 for the evening and felt like a hollow shell of a man afterwards.

I Was Smitten

2008-07-21T17:10:00.002-04:00

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 Said That One

2008-07-09T20:22:00.001-04:00

I saw a sex worker just over a year ago, but I had thought about it for a long long time. It never seemed like something I could really do. A sex advice column pointed me to an escort review board for my town. Reading through it, I was shocked at the openness of the posters and just how many different services were available. It didn't change my mind, but I kept looking every few weeks, using the advertisements on the site instead of porn to jerk off. The women seemed closer, more real, with a call I could actually fuck them.

I changed my mind a year ago because I was turning 30 and I was still a virgin. At the time going to a prostitute seemed like the only way to do something about it. Even after I had made my decision it took me a few weeks to actually make the call. I chose an incall service near my apartment, I didn't want to meet her at my place and I didn't want to spend more money on a hotel room.

I was so nervous when making the call I barely paid attention to what the operator was saying. I heard the name of a girl I remembered from the website and I said that one. I noted down the information on where to go, but I made a mistake and had to call back twice.

Once I finally got there, I was shocked by how broken down the room was, but the girl was pretty. I handed my money, she told me to get comfortable and she went out of the room for 5 minutes. I had no idea what to do. I removed my clothes, keeping on my underwear. When she came back in the room, she immediately got undressed and got on the bed. She was beautiful, but this is not what I had imagined. I couldn't do most of what I had in mind: couldn't undress her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't perform cunnilingus. She was also weirded out by my penis, I have a phimosis. Still, I was enjoying myself until she got on top of me. She immediately started to moan, and it hit me as incredibly fake. I lost my erection. We spent the rest of our time together lying on the bed, me holding her.

For the next few weeks what I had done would hit me: sometimes it would make me happy, sometimes sad. Now it's just another memory. I stayed away from the review site for a few month, but I started going back recently. I may end up trying again, but right now it doesn't feel yet like I need to.

I Must Be The Luckiest Man In The World

2008-06-03T12:49:00.002-04:00

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 a Young Black Guy

2008-05-27T09:22:00.001-04:00

I'm a young black guy with a thing for older voluptuous white women. Prostitution has helped me realize my fantasy. My most memorable experience was with a single mother. We set a date at a hotel. She got some candles, started with a massage and we started having a nice conversation. Her body type was prefect for me: slightly saggy big breasts, round belly and nice ass. We got a great time together. 5 minutes after fucking, she started telling me funny stories about her son, the apple of her eye. We talked about normal stuff, like old acquaintances who had already met each other. I'm still struck by how giving she was by telling me about her son. Maybe she felt like I needed a little more confidence, she even gave me some nice compliments. Those lasted more than 1 hour.

I keep thinking of how nice it would be to keep my head buried in her chest, for protection. To only leave it unless absolutely necessary.

I have not tried that hard to explain my preference for larger white women to myself. Maybe I'm afraid it's based on this horrible stereotype of white women that I'm not even aware of. Maybe I'm afraid to put black women in perspective in this too. It's hard enough to talk about sex without putting race in it. As for my age preference: maybe I'm looking for a mother-son relationship.

I Like Women

2008-05-23T11:52:00.001-04:00

I'm 41 and divorced. I have had a few girlfriends since breaking up, but the combination of a demanding job and the fact I spend most weekends with my children means I am usually single.

I have a high sex drive - not freakish, but I like sex, and I like women. I started seeing working girls after I'd been single for 6 months, and have had the usual range of experiences - I even made friends with one of the girls.

A few weeks ago, I arranged to see a girl who advertised on a web site. Her online persona is very much the crazy cumslut porn queen - she wears exotic make-up, has huge silicon boobs, and in her blog wonders if she's a slut or a whore.

I visited the hotel where she was staying, expecting a full-on session of filthy porno sex - and I wasn't disappointed. Thing is, afterwards, we chatted for a bit - and she opened up to me, a total stranger who had paid her for sex - about her life. She showed me pictures of her cats, told me about her no-good ex husband, how she was hoping to move to a remote place and just have lots of animals. She told me about her boyfriend, and how her submissive bedroom persona was matched by a bossy and demanding real world attitude.

I fell a little bit in love with her - wanted to hold her and make her feel safe. Of course, I knew that to her I was just another nameless guy with a hard-on, so I suppressed the feeling.

I'm Faithful In Every Other Sense Of The Word

2008-05-12T10:00:00.002-04:00

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've Seen Every Kind Of Hooker Going

2008-05-08T08:51:00.004-04:00

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 Was A Girl Who Had Gone To A Prostitute

2008-04-28T00:32:00.001-04:00

If you've ever read The House of God by Samuel Shem--considered by many to be the definitive novel on the medical intern experience--there's a recurrent theme of the stress, long hours, emotional disconnectedness as causing a psychosexual regression in its main characters, the doctors. They play basketball, joke around and fuck like adolescent boys. Some retreat into asexuality. Many take their stresses out on their sexual mates and relationships, and each other.

Last year was my intern year. Believe me, the conditions have improved since that time but the medical profession's (in)ability to deal with their emotions remains similar. Myself included.

Stressed out of my brain about the heavily parental role we play when we look after our charges, many of whom are very sick and die, bullying from registrars you can't fight, the sexual tensions rife amongst lonely doctors stuck temporarily hours from home, I found myself sleeping with a teddy bear every night for the first time since I was eight. That coupled with some hometown disasters with an ex-girlfriend and a male ex-fuckbuddy of mine just made my sex drive shrivel into nothing while I found myself getting steadily more and more agitated.

I'm an unfortunate person in a way. Unlike (seemingly) most women I go a bit nuts if I don't have sex for a very extended period of time. Particularly if I don't have sex with another girl for longer than a year. I guess it eats into my self-esteem. There's a creative tension/starvation thing at work there and often I find myself snapping and exploding at people while being infatuated with the first person to show any signs of interest in me. And yes, there were a few rather disastrous situations at work involving other female co-workers/superiors and stressful unconsummated co-crushes. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, but stuck for the first time in a small town for my work week I had no opportunity to meet people outside work, girls especially.

In the midst of this I caught up with one of my good friends back in Melbourne, got very drunk, hit on her good female friend, got rejected, got angry and left. Got incredibly and inconsolably upset and cried for hours. And the only garbled sense that came from my mouth was what I'd iterated a few times--that I needed a girl, I needed one now, I just needed that. So that ex-fuckbuddy in fact said--and this was very good of him--that I should do the needful. I could afford it and he'd drop me off there.

I was too nervous to call to ask brothels in the phone book whether they had any girls who would do other girls so he called for me. First brothel had no one. I was almost shaking with nervousness, heart pumping furiously away. Second one--oh yes, they have someone? Great! We'll be there ASAP.

Walking in, I felt like there was no turning back from this. I thought to myself, I'm 24, young, female, attractive, and here I am needing a prostitute. What am I doing? I've become one of those people.

I stuttered that I wanted to sleep with a girl, and my friend said he was just along for moral support until I found someone I was happy with. The lady at the front just smiled, asked me to take a seat in the waiting room and she'd send girls in and I could choose.

I felt like a total idiot. What was I doing. Why. What was the protocol here? I walked into the lushly velvet waiting room and took a seat on the cushy sofa, sunk my head in my hands.

First girl came in--wild weird hair and too much makeup. Not my type at all. Second one, dark haired tall, medium build, short hair, an improvement but... not quite right. Third one, smiled, made eye contact. Her name was ________. She was tall, very curvaceously fleshy, Rubenesque and maybe not my usual type but she felt right. She held out her hand, I took it nervously, sweaty-palmed. Paid with my credit card with the extra charge for kissing and caressing as well as "servicing."

We went upstairs into a deluxe room complete with huge bed and spa pool. She said we needed to shower first so I clumsily undressed and she slipped her dress off and we got into the shower. She soaped my back and I cleaned myself efficiently. Dried myself off and we went to the bed and began.

It was all so automatic for me, I was so starved of sex. I kissed and touched and stroked and licked, she also did the same and began to pleasure me. When my hand reached down, however, I was surprised and disappointed that she wasn't obviously (physically) aroused, but my need for sex was such that I was more than happy to receive. She gave me a massage when I needed a break, said I felt tense, and we started talking.

She was a single mum of three, in her 30s, recently divorced. Had had a few flings with girls in the past but nothing since she had gotten married. And right now she was making ends meet. She said I seemed really, really nervous--had I done this before? I said no. She asked what brought me here--whether I was out or not. I said that I had been out for awhile, had had a few girlfriends but right now was going through a dry patch and just wasn't coping. I asked her a little bit about her job and she asked me a bit about mine. It was nice to talk and I started to relax a bit.

Afterwards we went to the spa, and more sex there, and she was more turned on, and then back to the bed. I slowly gained confidence. Really enjoyed myself but didn't orgasm. We did a few different things, and a couple of things I hadn't done before which was nice too. I liked that she knew what she was doing and that I could just relax and let myself go and not worry too much.

Time was called but she gave me an extra 15 minutes for free :). I got dressed hurriedly afterwards and my friend met me downstairs.

God damn I walked with a strut all the way home. I was finally sated, my mind clear. I could think again. Felt a bit dirty and a bit weird and a bit changed but... like I'd done the right thing anyway. I'd needed it and it was the right thing to do.

I told a few of my friends later--not many, just a couple of close ones. They were surprised but didn't react with any disgust or pity whatsoever--just interest. Interest especially because I was a girl who had gone to a prostitute, something which I imagine is not that common (but commoner than you would think). Interestingly enough they found my hitting on a married colleague far more reprehensible!

I went back to work almost a new person. Energetic, happy, relaxed and myself again, with emotional reserves recharged.

All in all it was a good experience for me and I do not regret it. In the country I live in things are easier also because brothel prostitution is perfectly legal and also much safer and so the attitudes are very different from a lot of places where it is banned. I think that it is a good alternative for when you are having problems getting sex and you don't want the complications of a pick up. I really admire the courage and the professionalism of prostitutes--who must have a potentially very difficult time.

I Had Also Done Many Things During Two Deployments I Never Wanted To Do

2008-04-22T00:03:00.008-04:00

Where to begin.

I'm a mid-twenty-something, currently in the military. I have a stable girlfriend and several unstable yet available female friends. I am vastly overeducated for my job and am generally a well-respected person. I'm not too shabby in the looks department and am very seldom ridiculed. Generally being gone for a year at a time overseas is a terrible experience. Every time I've gone it's been a miserable series of events that makes suicide seem palatable. One day I decided to visit Toronto with some friends. After a complete failure at the bar scene I decided I could part with some money for some stress release. I had never bothered to resort to prostitution, but I had also done many things during two deployments I never wanted to do. After the concierge at the hotel was appalled by my request for female companionship, I hailed a cab and asked the best place to find a professional. He suggested the intersection of two streets named Church and College respectively. This was very comical to me, but I was eager to begin the adventure. Upon arriving I found a gaggle of women who were wearing what could only be described as whore uniforms. I decided on a young blond who seemed to fit the part. Negotiating the price during the cab ride back to the hotel, we eventually made our way to my room, finding many odd stares from hotel guests and the staff. This part was actually very exciting for some reason. In the room things began very fast, and while thrilling it was obvious she was doing her job, which in a way was more arousing. After a seemingly endless 35 minutes of nervous thrusting, I managed to complete my task, which seemed the most satisfactory part of the evening to her. Pleasantries were exchanged, and I handed over her garish clothing and sent her on her way. After a cigarette and some self soothe saying, I managed to convince myself somewhat that the money was well spent and that I had a "good time." I would possibly seek companionship in this manner again, but honestly it was a frightening act of depravity fueled by a complete loss of morals related to my murder for hire status in the military.

I've Moved Up In Life

2008-04-21T08:27:00.003-04:00

It's hard to start. Why does an obedient, fundamentally good young man in his 20's like myself all of a sudden find himself the customer of massage parlors and escort services in Vancouver?

The answer that I have, and that many others in this website have also provided, is rejection. Rejection, and its close associate, the loneliness that comes after it, leads many of us to believe that we are fundamentally unloveable. And for us, the prospect of trading some of our money for the affection and the satisfaction that an escort, or a masseuse, or a prostitute (you name it) can provide is not just about sex--it's more about safety, the feeling that all you have to do to keep this girl by your side is treat her right and pay her promptly.

Stick to that, and you will not be rejected. Simple. Straightforward. Safe.

Whether my rejection experiences are more or less acute than those suffered from others, I cannot tell. I have unfortunately only had one girlfriend in 24 years of my life, and it proved to be a harrowing experience, a few months' worth of happiness in exchange for years of suffering afterwards. In light of that, and of my horrible loneliness, I decided to visit a massage parlor in November of last year. Since then, I've moved up in life--from happy endings to BJ's to the full "service." I've been there, done that. Not that I am proud. But it's the unfortunate truth.

My latest experience was with an escort called A. She came from the same South American country I did, a tall, dark-haired girl with a great body. She says she's in town to "learn English," which I doubted, but who cares? For an hour and fifteen minutes, I had someone listen to me wholeheartedly, rub my back, provide me with the ersatz-girlfriend that I crave for but feel that I am unable to attract, and then at the end of it all she even asked for my phone number.

"You will call me again, right?" she asks.

I would like to say that I won't. But my hour with A. felt like water washing my wounds, easing the pain of my brutal loneliness, helping me feel accepted and valued again, a feeling that I haven't felt in many, many months.

Some people say that love is priceless. Well, to those people I say, for two-hundred and seventy Canadian dollars, something quite like it is there for the taking. At least until the hour is done.

I Am Very Reclusive

2008-04-17T22:14:00.006-04:00

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 Went Whoring on Good Friday

2008-04-11T07:49:00.004-04:00

First of all English is not my mother tongue. I rate my English as fairly good, but it's not up to this kind of subjects. So, I may say funny things and, above all, write things meaning something different.

To write things to be ashamed of, curling toes.

Like when I went whoring on Good Friday. She was a petite East-European 25ish, fragile appearance, ill colour. A semblance of perfect victim.

She spoke French slowly, a little faltering. She dressed black imitation leather lingerie. I guess she was high - they must take something to makes them think that they are not there, that it's not them. I was drunk.

Price was low. I paid 50 € for a blow-job and to fuck her doggy style.

While she was giving head, I was sitting on the bed smoking. She had to rush to hand me some ashtray, she was afraid I could set the bed on fire.

Then she turned of the 4 paws, she moaned preparing for penetration. I could not find a comfortable position and I turned her on her back, in the missionary position.

She was ashamed to look at me or disgusted. Or maybe it was my breath. She kept on moaning, hoping in a quicker ejaculation. Her skin was covered with face powder, and released some sweet scent, like all whores. The neck tendon, a reflection on the skin and the suffering expression on her pale face, made me feel like I wanted to slobber on her. I can't recall if I called her names, Probably not.

I enjoyed seeing my cock penetrating in the middle of her thighs, I looked good in the mirror while I was riding her. But I couldn't find myself disgusting and couldn't get really excited.

After it was done, she tried to socialize, asked me if I enjoyed it, if I was OK and if I used to work out. She tried to wipe the sperm of my dick with a Kleenex, but thinking that it would have made her feel comfortable I turned my back and wore my pants.

I came out in the street with a smile. A bottle of Pouilly Fuissé had designed that grin on my face a couple of hours before. I had been experiencing a feeling of self-contentment since I finished watching Apocalypse Now (redux), kneeling in front of the television, with my arms wide open, ready for the Eucharist.

I guess it says a lot about myself and sex. Whores are handy sometimes, I enjoy seeing they fake they enjoy it, knowing they don't like me.

As far as I am concerned, sex is only a way of abusing people, of abusing myself.

This has only increased while growing older, while loosing sexual power. Not that violence really turns me on. Quite the opposite, lately I find myself fantasizing about tall androgynous women, overpowering me (though I guess it's not the exact masochistic fantasy)... and that's why I wrote this message to you (is that you in the picture?).

I realise that it may sound scary. Sorry, it was not my intention.

I Couldn't Shut the Fuck Up

2008-04-08T15:53:00.006-04:00

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 Have a Physical Disability

2008-04-05T10:31:00.005-04:00

I have a physical disability known as Cerebral Palsy and am in an electric wheelchair. I have always struggled in my own existence, largely because I rely on a lot of people to assist me with the most basic tasks, such as dressing, showering, getting in and out of bed, and other basic things that many people take for granted. Although I am verbal, and highly intelligent, having acquired two university degrees at the age of 24, people do tend to judge a book by its cover when it comes to things such as dating and sex.

My entire life I have been trapped inside a body that I hate. It never does what I want it to. It always conspires against me. Although I am confident in my intellectual ability, I do not have a very strong self-image. This is largely because every girl I have asked out on a date has rejected me. Some were even cruel enough to say, "Why would I ever go out with a cripple like you?" Even now, I still have not yet had a girlfriend.

A few years back, I was hanging out with a few other disabled guys who were less physically able than I was. They mentioned that they regularly used a pro because it was the only way they could get the release they craved the most. Most of these guys couldn’t lift their heads up on their own, let alone have the ability to please a woman the way they wanted to. They would go to a brothel and get a hand-job once every few weeks. One of them described his first time with a pro in a way that will stick with me for the rest of my life; he said that "It was the first time I felt like a real man."

Sometime later, I fell in love for the first time. After pursuing her for several months, I was rejected once more, but this time was much harder to swallow than the others that came before her. After several weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to do something about it. Remembering the words of my friends, I decided I would visit a brothel. However, unlike my friends, I knew I wanted more than a hand-job. I wanted to lose my virginity.

I searched through the phone book, found a brothel I wanted and asked about the processes involved. I soon discovered that like most things in my life, this could not be a total secret. If I wanted to have sex, I would need somebody to help me shower before and after, as well as to lift me onto the bed. This would put most of my other disabled friends off immediately, but it did not deter me in the slightest. Without a moment's hesitation, I asked my older brother if he could help me. Although he was initially stunned, he reluctantly agreed.

On the night we turned up at the brothel, we were two completely different men. I was excited, nervously anticipating what would await me. My brother, in contrast, was absolutely petrified, afraid that someone he might know would walk in. After a short while, some girls made their way out and introduced themselves. I picked one and we followed her into the room. She stepped out while my brother helped me get organized. I told him to go for a walk, and I’d give him a call when I was ready.

The whole experience was everything I hoped it would be. She started by giving me a massage, which eased my muscles that are normally tight and non-compliant. As she completed the massage, my body felt like it could do anything I wanted, something I had never felt before. She went down on me, and we had sex. She made me feel safe and confident in myself. For that portion of time, having sex with her (even if I had to pay for it) made up for a lifetime of rejection.

It was the most enjoyable experience I have ever had in my life. I would put it down to two things. For once I had gained control over my body, and it felt like I was in control of my life. The worst thing about having a physical disability is the lack of control I have in life. Everything is very clinical, get up at this time, eat at this time, have a shower at this time, and go to bed at this time. I have no control over these things. This time, I got to do things on my own terms. Second, it was the first time I felt like I was being treated like a sexual being with desires and needs that were important. All my life I have been viewed as an asexual being whose desires should be avoided or neglected. The trip to the brothel taught me not to be afraid of my sexuality and not to push it into the background.

I am now a regular customer, although not as regular as I’d like to be. This is mostly because my brother has moved overseas, and it is hard to find people who will willingly accompany me. However, each time I go, I no longer feel like a cripple. I feel whole.

I Met This Girl

2008-04-02T07:46:00.002-04:00

I'm 30 years old. I've had sex with a professional 4 times - all of the times were with the same girl. Worked my butt off in school to get into an Ivy League college. There I met a girl and fell madly in love with her - she was 2 years ahead of me in college. I worked like a demon, graduated a year early so I could set up a life with her. Within a week of graduating and leaving all my friends behind I found out she had been cheating on me with her boss who had a daughter my age.

She told me that her boss was better in bed than I was - I never got over that I think. In the 8 years since graduation I've met a number of attractive, intelligent women who seem to have liked me. The Ivy League pedigree and large salaries helped I'm sure. But I figured I'd disappoint in bed so I never pursued them. Over the years I got very used to being alone - thought I had made my peace with it.

But last year some friends dragged me to a strip club for the first time. It was fun at first - beautiful, friendly women who paid so much attention to me. It did wonders for my confidence. I still couldn't date normal women though - now they seemed so pallid and listless.

And then I met this girl - I won't name her. She's 24, blonde and exquisite - so beautiful it hurts me to look at her sometimes. When she touches me anywhere, sometimes my muscles cramp up because I can't believe someone so beautiful is really by my side. Her skin glows in light, and when she smiles people around her look instinctively because she touches something in them. I didn't think it was possible for people to look so good.

She told me she dropped out of high school - but after umpteen years in college and grad school all over the world, I have met very few people who could keep up a conversation with her. She discusses philosophy, science, music, literature with effortless ease. Every time I talk to her she surprises me with her insight. Did I mention how beautiful she is?

I spend 5,000 dollars a night to see her - I used to have a great job. I quit recently and started my own company which is also doing well - but the cash adds up. Every time I see her I think it'll be the last time but nothing I do gets her out of my head. She thinks I'm a nice guy but I'm just a john to her - to me, she's everything I've ever wanted or could want in another person.

My friends and family keep trying to set me up - women hand me their numbers at bars - but they fail so miserably in comparison to her.

I guess it will never work out but I can't think of anyone else I would rather be with.

I Almost Was Caught

2008-03-24T13:47:00.007-04:00

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

2008-03-17T00:06:00.004-04:00

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 Ashamed of Nothing I Have Done

2008-03-14T00:30:00.007-04:00

I spent twenty years, eight months, and one day in the US military. The first ten of those years I was happily married to a sexual goddess. We made love, we fucked, we had casual sex with each other almost every day for almost every day of our marriage. The only times we didn't have sex was when I was down-range for three, four, or even seven-month deployments. The best sex in my life would be in the weeks following my return home from those deployments. We would make love and just plain fuck for a whole week. Little did I realize I was married to a sex addict; I asked the question I didn't want the answer to: have you been screwing other men while I'm away? I filed for divorce the next day, and did an ERD (early return of dependents) with my command. In one short week, I went from having mad/crazy love-making/fuck-fests almost every day to celibate guy.

I was stationed in Germany at the time and was only a short four hour drive to Amsterdam. Two months after having no sex and getting very tired of the whole masturbation thing, I made a drive up to Amsterdam with a few single friends. We had a purpose, and it was to get me laid. We arrived about 5PM and started off at the Hard Rock drinking insane amounts of Heineken. None of us had ever done anything like this. (Although I did pay for a virgin co-worker to have sex at a so-called Turkish women's prison in SE Turkey in 1992 during one of my several stints for OP Northern Watch/OP Provide Comfort). We needed to take the integrity-first edge off, so to speak. We started roaming the district a couple hours later. Since we were window shopping, we walked around for about an hour trying to find that "perfect" girl. I found mine first.

She was about 5'6", light brown hair, smallish but perky breasts, and not a day over 22. There was no negotiation: fifty guilder. At the time, the guilder-to-dollar exchange rate was about 2:1, so $25 for a session. I had no idea what a session comprised, but I was quite willing to part with fifty guilder to actually touch a naked woman. I went in, she closed the door, pulled the curtain and switched on a small lamp and turned off the overhead light. The room was tiny. It had a sink, a single bed and a chair. There wasn't much room for anything else. I sat down on the bed, and she took off my shoes and socks, then my shirt, and then she unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my 501's, and then slid my jeans and underwear off. She neatly placed all of my clothes on the chair, put my socks in the shoes, and placed them under the chair. Very neat, very proper, and very matter-of-fact. Then she examined my now very erect penis, and then she took off her bra and slid out of her panties. Kneeling there on the floor, looking up at me, was a thing of beauty. Not an ounce of fat, perfectly taught belly, spectacularly symmetric breasts, and a completely shaved pubic area. She stood up and laid me on my back on the small bed, my feet hanging over the edge. She placed a condom on my penis, then straddled me, and then slowly lowered herself onto me. She maintained complete control, riding me until I came, about 15 minutes.

She took off the condom, wiped me up and handed me my clothes. We chatted while I dressed, and in doing so, found we were both Czech. When I left, I asked if I could come back again later that evening. She said that would be fine, but she would be vacating the spot at 2200 hours when another girl would be taking over. That would be fine, she said. My friends were waiting for me when I left, asking all the standard questions (how was it? was it worth it?). We walked around trying to find "perfect" for the other guys. When one of them found one, we'd wait outside, until we'd all had our A-dam cherries popped. I found my first experience so exhilarating that I paid for sex three more times that night... once more with my Czech beauty. The next day was a carbon copy of the first: lots of beer and then sex with more girls. I visited my Czech beauty three times that weekend, and over the course of the next six months, I spent every other weekend in A-dam, buying blocks of time with her. Of course we spent a lot of time fucking, but we also spooned for hours, talking about life in America and life in Praha. I'd bring American cigarettes from the base commissary and cosmetics from the BX for her after the second weekend. (I asked her if I could bring something for her once, and then I'd always ask what else she wanted.) Those spring and summer months of 1996 linger in my mind for two reasons: I was single again for the first time in over 12 years, and I had amazing sex and spooning with "my" Czech beauty in A-dam.

I have been a john, off and on, since that crazy year. I've paid for sex with college girls in Seattle while on my way to Japan. I spent an extra two days in Frankfurt, returning from my last tour in Iraq, just to spend some Euros in one of the various Eros Centers. I've picked up streetwalkers for a twenty dollar blow job, and I've spent as much as five hundred bucks (not including a room and dinner afterwards). I've crossed the South Texas border for weekend sex jaunts. When I was stationed in Japan, I even took a week-long trip to Thailand for the single-minded purpose of fucking, fucking, and more fucking.

Here's what I've found out about myself, and life in general, in the process of being a john. I'm not a big fan of Asian women--although the Thai trip was completely otherworldly, in terms of no-holds-barred, freaky, whatever you ever dreamed of, off-the-charts-and-straight-to-hell sex--I prefer the end-of-century eastern European women of Amsterdam and Germany (Czechs, Poles and Russians). American girls charge too fucking much. As much as I love to perform cunnilingus, and I'd rather spend an hour giving before an hour of receiving, I've only done it with one working girl. I still do not have herpes (I'm certainly a very, very, very lucky man). I'd just as soon spend $300 to come right away and then spoon for 45 minutes as I would to have a whiskey-dick hard on and never come for an hour. You can, in fact, buy intimacy by the hour, even if one half of it is feigned. Lesbian crackheads do not give good head. One can try to hang a sign on us, the collective john, as perpetuating the global conspiracy of sex/slave traffic, and I'll grant that my Thailand trip may have/probably did contribute to some sort of thuggery. But in the end, I am ashamed of nothing I have done.

I Was Forever One of the Johns Now

2008-03-02T07:38:00.011-05:00

I had sex with a prostitute once, when I was in my mid-twenties.

I came about as close to going crazy that year as I have so far. (Knock on wood). I was single and living alone, being stressed beyond all previous experience by a job. (It amazes me now to think of letting an employer drive me to this state.) Though I wasn't consciously tracking it, I had also been going up a steady ramp of commercial sex trade, from porn to phone sex to strippers.

I grew up in a small town, and I was pretty unworldly. I don't remember how, probably through some movie, I realized that you could actually find escorts in the telephone book. I went to look and sure enough. For a couple weeks, every so often I would look at those listings. But I didn't think I would actually do it.

One day, I went to the movie theater alone--the way I did most things those days. The movie I saw was "Angels and Insects." Throughout that strange, messed-up story of class, repression, and incest, I felt like a bubble of hot blood was swelling in my head and chest. I was also plagued by hypochondria during this period. In the end of the movie, two of the main characters escape their damaged, repressed situation together. I knew that there wasn't any escape in the cards for me.

When I got home, I put myself into the sort of unthinking trance I do when I want to do something I don't think I should and don't want to think about it and dialed a number selected based on an unremembered criteria. I hadn't even thought about money, I was relatively poor, and the amount cited (a couple hundred) surprised me. I said I didn't have it on hand and didn't know if I could get it, thinking that might be the end of it, but she said she would call back in half an hour and see. It must have been a slow day. I walked to a nearby convenience store (I had no car) and took out the money plus an fifty extra because I figured I ought to, as a cash advance on a credit card. I went home and told myself she probably wouldn't call. But she did.

I was very excited, the kind of rush I used to get going into the adult store (or, when I was a kid, shoplifting), but in the time it took for her to arrive the feeling decayed and I felt like I'd made a mistake. But the doorbell rang and I figured: in for a penny, in for a pound.

I think she said her name was Laurie, but I'm not sure. She was pretty, buxom, and slender, though she had her hair gelled to the point of being crunchy, which made touching it sort of unpleasant. I almost forgot what I was about for a minute, until she told me I couldn't kiss her. Oh, right. I fumbled over some stupid line I thought would protect me from a potential police sting (some over-thought variation of "You're not a cop, are you?") that only made her nervous, though she got over it. Foreplay felt like a stupid charade, but I went through the motions, for my own sake, not hers.

When we moved into the bedroom, I was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that I slept on a mattress on the floor--I was just a couple years out of college. I lost my erection while she tried to get a condom on, but she managed to get me back up with oral. The oral was the best part of the experience, even with a condom. She was very skillful.

The sex was really average. When she started to moan. I felt like telling her not to bother, but it seemed like it would be rude to do so. Orgasm was a little flicker, quickly dissipated to nothing. But the pressure in my head went away.

She asked me about what I thought afterwards. I didn't really know what to say. (I said something but I don't remember what.) She asked me if I was expecting her to be prettier, and I said she was very pretty. She said: Some guys expect us to look like models. If I looked like a model would I be doing this? Then she seemed sort of embarrassed, like she'd let the cat out of the bag that she didn't really want to have sex with me. No worries, sister. I knew that going in. She asked if she could have my belt. It was strange. It wasn't really a remarkable belt at all, just black leather with a steel buckle. It was probably worth twelve bucks. I told her it was a gift from my brother (true), otherwise it would have been no problem. I walked her out to her car, and she hugged me before she got in. I wondered about that. Maybe she was trying to leave a good impression for potential repeat business, or maybe she was grateful that I'd showered beforehand and didn't try to stick it up her ass. She said to call her any time.

I sat in the dark listening to records afterwards, smoking and thinking about how I had joined this dirty club, and I couldn't take it back. I was forever one of the Johns now. I felt like I had changed something about who I was--and not in a good way--more so than, say, when I lost my virginity. I worried about the money, too. I really couldn't afford it.

Then again, for months afterwards I would find myself thinking that I would do it again, only this time I wouldn't be such a nice guy. I would really take advantage of the situation. I went through a similar escalation with phone sex, like the first time I asked an operator to role-play anal, which at the time was very exciting. But I never made another call, and I've never slept with another prostitute. I regret it now, though I don't think or worry about it anymore. I don't judge sex workers or in general the people who employ them, but it isn't what I want sex to be in my life. I don't think the experience added anything of value to my existence. I have told very few people about it. My brother, and a couple of friends, and the woman who is now my wife, before we started dating, because I knew I wanted to date her, and I figured it was better off being out there. I got appreciably saner, and I stopped calling phone sex, though I do sometimes look at dirty pictures on the internet.

I Am Handsome and Successful

2008-02-21T17:55:00.007-05:00

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.

I Told Myself I Was Just Being Honest

2008-02-20T08:55:00.004-05:00

Have I ever been with a prostitute?

Yes.

Why?

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.

I've Always Been a Quiet, Shy Guy

2008-02-18T10:38:00.007-05:00

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 Still Pretty Young

2008-02-06T10:57:00.000-05:00

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."

Etc.

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.

I'm a State Investigator

2008-02-04T10:00:00.000-05:00

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.

I Can't Speak for the Rest

2008-01-31T19:47:00.000-05:00

It was a week long bachelor party in Colombia for a good friend of mine. The planning took months discussion, most of which centered around the hookers and how much fun it would be. We finally managed to book flights and though a business contact rented 2 apartments. One of our biggest fears, would it be difficult or complicated to get a hold of girls, was alleviated when we got into our first taxi on the way from the airport. I expect that five 30 year old buddies traveling alone in Colombia was a dead giveaway and the driver asked quietly if we wanted coke or girls. We quickly asked for both and a 5 day ride of depravity began. We where soon on our way to what we understood to be a club of some sort to pick up girls which we understood to be prostitutes of some sort. Unfortunately our drivers had underestimated our purchasing power and we ended up in some horrible local whorehouse on the outskirts of the city. The place was damp and dark with bare cement floors and people in varied states of inebriation and fornication spread around the complex. It was a violent shock to most of us as we realised that the money we planned to spend on the trip made us omnipotent with regards to getting a hold of any working girl down there.

We managed to explain to the drivers that we wanted a more classy place and ended up in a brothel with a plexiglass covered shower and women all over the place (can't get more classy than that). The women attacked us as flies to shit as soon as we walked in the door and this time we didn't hesitate to each pick a girl for the night. The one I had picked has some sort of a problem and disappeared into the back rooms leaving me with little time to find another. Just as I was about to give up and select randomly a tall, black girl walked passed and caught my eye. After a quick discussion with the madam of the house and a payment of maybe 300 dollars total we piled into the cars and headed back for a unforgettable night.

As we arrived all our anxiety and inhibitions disappeared. We felt safe in the apartments and the girls where pros contracted for a full night. At first we chitchated and drank a bit before taking each of our girls to a private room or at least a private corner for some fun. After a while the scene dissolved into some sort of high-school orgy. Everyone got drunk and high and at one point a friend was pretending to interview me with a camera while I screwed my ebony princess on the couch. Another buddy took a girl on the balcony in full view of any neighbor and no one bothered with clothes for the rest of the night. At one point during the next morning a telephone repairman knocked on the door and we had to ask him to wait while we carried two naked and semiconscious girls into the bedroom. I can't image what went though his mind when he entered the living room.

The following days became more subdued and the reality of what we where doing began to sink in for some of us. We discovered that all the girls had admitted that they where mothers and that they lived in the brothel while making money to support their kids who I imagined lived somewhere else. I can't speak for the rest, but the guilt of my total lack of self-control on the trip hits me in the gut every time I think of it. I know I can't change the economic situation for these girls, but I'm morally disgusted by how much I enjoyed sex with the most sensual women I've ever met while at the same time she has no choice in the matter.

I Just Came Undone

2008-01-30T00:22:00.001-05:00

She was truly a beauty, and young, and sweet, almost certainly a college student there in Tampa. There we were, her and I, a small room, a massage parlor, 1974. She got my clothes undone, and some of her own. She proceeded to patiently and lovingly give me one of the very few orgasms I've ever had from oral sex; this girl hung in with me, and hung in with me, and hung in with me some more, she gently and carefully worked me over until I just came undone. An amazing experience, very powerful. She rocked my world. This woman rocked my world.

When I finally came back to space/time, after I'd quit writhing, moaning, shaking, spasming, I sat up, found myself with her, and this sweet woman came to me, expectantly, knowing the love she'd just given me -- and you can say it wasn't love but then you just flat don't understand the word -- she came to me to give me a kiss, or share with me a kiss I think is more accurate, given what'd just transpired, given the look on her face, the look in her eyes.

But I -- young, foolish, green, not yet understanding love, or much else -- my uptight stupidity kept me from kissing 'a whore'.

How I wish I had kissed her.

I've thought of her, and of myself, of how bad I felt even as I turned away from her kiss. Our kiss, I guess. It's a sadness, a regret.

I'm writing to square this, in the only way that I can, and I know she's not reading this but maybe another sweet woman who loves on young fools can read this and apply what I'm saying to the idiots she touches today, maybe in these words she'll see that those frozen men who turn from her gifts of love are going to be thinking of her not only later tonight but also years from now, maybe my words will be full circle in some odd way.

Thanks to you for your gift of love, sweet young woman -- I wish I'd have loved you back, I truly do -- and to every loving young woman today and any other day.

I'm Not a John

2008-01-28T20:59:00.000-05:00

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 Was on Anti-Depressants for a While

2008-01-21T08:39:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-18T07:27:00.000-05:00

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 Had Taken Up a Part Time Endeavor Involving a Certain Amount of Sales

2008-01-17T06:58:00.000-05:00

I was 18 or 19 the first time I had any extended time without sex since I had hit puberty. (Everyone knows those little towns where no one has anything to do but party or screw...) At the time, I had taken up a part time endeavor involving a certain amount of sales. A slightly older acquaintance and friend of friends was perusing my store and for some reason it just occurred to me that I'd just about do anything to get some. After some nervous half-jokes, I finally said something about it and made it clear I was serious. The young lady was not the most attractive in our group of friends, but I've never been entirely shallow, nor was I in a position to be picky. Needless to say, I received oral stimulation for what amounted to about $10 of merchandise. Years later, I'm still in contact with others who are in contact with her and that's the real story. Now some 7 or so years later she is quite attractive, although her jail time and record are not.

I Guess You Always Wanted the Pretty Unattainable Mean Girl to Be Getting into Your Car for Sex

2008-01-16T07:45:00.000-05:00

It's strange that I remember the first time, because it's been 15 years now and I really haven't thought about it in ages. Everyone in town knew where the main hooker drag was and my friends and I had driven by a few times and even hooted at the girls, but these girls seemed as unattainable as any others. These were beautiful girls, girls who looked like what I imagined strippers and dancers to look like, done up in the classic slutty boots, halter tops and other accoutrements of the classic hooker. We never stopped to ask how much they charged because we knew we couldn't afford it, and now that I think about it, I never saw someone pull over and pick a girl off, or drop one off. It was almost like they were advertising a service available elsewhere, and not really on offer themselves.

Once, years later when I was back in town visiting, I pulled over on a whim and asked how much. "$250 for a blow, $350 for a lay and $400 for a half and half." I naively asked what a half and half was and she curtly explained that it meant she started with a blow and then followed through with sex. Even the basics were out of my price range and I drove off. I never did pick up one of those goddesses, but in the long run it probably wasn't worth it.

I worked in a warehouse not more than a mile from the docks, and occasionally in the mornings I would notice used condoms in our parking lot or our loading dock. I asked my boss about it, and he said that at night there were lots of hookers in the area since it's all warehouses, no one really complains. He would just wash the condoms into the gutter, and said he really didn't care if they used the parking lot to turn tricks at night. Intrigued, I headed down there that night.

At first I couldn't find anyone, looking right around where I worked proved useless, but after driving around in circles for a while, I started noticing a couple of areas where girls would step out of shadows or alleyways as people drove by. They certainly didn't make too much of a show of themselves, but once you knew where to look, it seemed like there was a few dozen here and there. Some were old, fat, ugly or had that used up look that junkies get, but some just looked like normal girls. I think I cruised around there for a couple of nights before I finally got the nerve to stop for a girl.

Now, I was 19 at the time, and although I wasn't a virgin, I wasn't very experienced either, and I'd certainly never done anything like this. I wasn't ready in any sense of the word, I didn't have any cash on me, I was nervous and shaking a little and generally more committed to the voyeurism than I was to the act. Then I saw her.

She was not a goddess by any means, but she was really pretty. She had blonde hair, a nice figure with perky, medium sized breasts and was wearing a black cocktail dress. She actually looked a little out of place, a little less trampy than the other girls I'd seen that night.

I pulled over and asked how much. "$60 for a blow, $140 for sex." Get in, I told her. I had to go to the bank machine, but she didn't seem to mind. Up close she looked to me like a pretty girl from a small town, there was something fashionably dated about her hairstyle that made me think that. She didn't look like anyone I knew, but she had that look that a casting director would look for when casting a generic mean girl in high school. Pretty with just a hint of superiority seemed to be part of her natural look. There was something about that that I really liked, I guess you always wanted the pretty unattainable mean girl to be getting into your car for sex. I figured her to be maybe a couple of years older than me, but it could have just been her expression – jaded or a little hardened. I elected for blow job because it seemed like a better way to start and frankly, I really wanted a blow job.

She made me stop at a pay phone for a second, then we chit chatted as I looked for an ATM. She said she was from a small town not too far away and that she had a baby she was trying to support. She volunteered that she wasn't on drugs – I hadn't asked – and it occurred to me that I really didn't care if she was telling the truth. She was smiling when she told me these things, and I think it was obvious to her – by my age or by my demeanor – that I'd never done something like this before. I hit the bank machine, took out $80 and she directed me to a secluded spot where I pulled over. She wasn't rude, she had kind of a flirty way about her and she smiled a lot. I think she could tell I was nervous and she sort of took charge.

She told me to pull my pants down past my knees, I did. I was already hard and she started to put a condom on me. I realized suddenly that with a blow job, I wasn't going to get to see her naked, and suddenly that bothered me. "Wait, I want to play with your tits a little." She told me it would be an extra $40. I offered her the other $20 that I had and without a word she lowered the straps of her dress. I clearly remember her breasts, they were great. Perky, firm, not a hint of sag, big areolas with nipples the size of the tips of one of my fingers. I played with them a little, sucked on one, then the other and then let her get on with her work.

One note on the condom, when she took it out, and I realized that I was getting a blow job while wearing a condom, I didn't complain but I did feel a mix of relief and disappointment. I knew it wasn't going to be as nice as it would be without one, but at the same time, I knew it was as much for my protection as it was for hers.

I've always used condoms when with pros, with a few occasions where a girl surprised me taking my cock into her mouth. Even then, with what they call a bare back blow job, I've never been too comfortable with the idea. I don't want a disease, and if she takes care of herself, she's making it safer for me. Anyway…

She said one thing before going down on me. "Ya got a big dick. You should do porno movies." As she blew me I thought about that. Was that something that hookers were supposed to say? Was it true? I was pretty sure it wasn't. Anyway, in a couple of seconds it all became academic and I leaned back and let her do her work while I half heartedly fondled her breasts.

I didn't last long, she straightened herself out, took the condom off, wrapped it in a tissue and threw it out of the car. She offered me another tissue to wipe up, I did and drove her back to her spot. I cruised that area looking for her again, but never found her. Maybe she moved to a new area, maybe she quit or maybe something happened to her. I never even got a pretend name.

I Was 22

2008-01-11T08:32:00.000-05:00

I was 22 and set off for the my first trip to Europe at the beginning of summer break at my college. I only knew the rudiments of Latin which I had studied in high school and had no real destination. I began in the Netherland, Amsterdam and traveled by the seat of my pants for the next month. After the flight and short train ride I was at Centraal station Amsterdam. I had plenty of money saved up for the trip and a few days booked at a hostel downtown. While walking around taking in the sights of the city's abundant nightlife I stumbled into the infamous red light district. The place itself was beautiful with red neon lights reflecting off the many shops and windows that gave everything a pink haze. The area smelled of cigarettes and Pommes. There was a canal dividing the street which I kept close to as I watched people watch prostitutes. The people I observed actually soliciting were many and varied. Business men in dark suits from every ethnic background, groups of young boys daring each other to talk to women in the windows they didn't have the guts to talk to themselves, US military men, and a host of others.

I honestly did not plan to actually try it, but felt infected with the aura of the people around me and finally gave in. I probably walked down the canal each direction 3 times before I could muster the courage to approach one. She was a cute Croatian girl in one of the side streets. She reminded me of a girl I had always wanted to fool around with in high school. I went into her little room, and she pulled the drape over the window over. My earlier observations led me to try and set a price. I think it was my first time negotiating the price of anything. I was so used to paying the listed price and then tax since I owned a wallet. We agreed on a 100 Euro for a half hour. I think I was so nervous that I could barely get it up so I figured I would spend the first ten minutes making small talk and trying to get to know her a bit. She was the same age as me and had been living in Croatia until a few months ago. I ended up talking about myself and asking her about the industry in general. We ended up talking until her alarm went off and realized I only had 5 minutes left. I paid for another half hour and got right down to it. She inspected me then put the condom on herself. The experience was rather interesting as I had never had sex with a body length mirror next to the bed. At times I wanted to kiss her which I found out is not common practice. I settled for trying to kiss her breast, but there was some kind of glitter and perfume on it and decided against trying again. At the end I was rather disappointed. I think it might have been better had I not been laid for a while but I was glad of the experience.

I don't know if this is the proper format but it was the best I could recall from memory and the journal I kept of the event.

I Was in the Navy

2008-01-10T08:18:00.000-05:00

I was in the Navy from 1985 to 1991, stationed mostly on the West Coast which afforded me several trips to the Orient. The saying of Young, dumb, and full of cum was more then just a cliché for us. Though much of my memory is hazy from that period, I will recall the trip to Thailand. Pattaya Beach is where we had landed, but me and my friend, Freddy managed to string a couple days off together and we took the train trip to Bangkok. We got a room and met up with some other friends there and went to get a cab. I am guessing that because we conveyed to our non-English speaking cab-driver that we wanted girls and that we were generally cheap enlisted folk, he took us to a place called The Poor House. As we pulled up to an old, almost warehouse looking place on the dimly lit, poor side of town we saw some very sad images. There were some girls aged from around 8-12 years old milling about on the steps. I would not consider us ones of high morals, per se, but we were not pedophiles. We expressed our disdain and made sure we included drinking and bar in our descriptions of where we wanted to go. We were taken to a more westernized strip of bars. The girls more or less free-lanced for the bars they associated with instead of there being a papa-san or mama-san to negotiate with. It was my friend Freddys birthday so I paid for him a prostitute once we had settled on a pair. I believe it was around 30-40$ for all night. We got more booze and went to our room. I think I still have some blurry photos from that night somewhere. I recall saying I could blackmail him should he run for office. At one point I know we swapped girls because it became a point of contention when about a week later, out to sea, on our way back, the tell-tale signs of burning sensation when peeing became apparent for both of us. We were not the only ones as the line to the medical facility was the longest I had even seen. We were fortunate not to have the drug resistant/virulent type gonorrhea that some had gotten and as we were single, we were not sweating it like many of the married ones were. I remember seeing an article in the Seattle paper a few months later that mentioned an un-named ship that had after taking a 4 month Orient cruise had one the highest rates of STDs, almost 2/3rds of the crew (600-700 personnel) though I wondered if they counted some people twice. My 1st and last time with an STD, btw. We were stocked up on the free condoms they gave away after that.

I Was on the Verge of Losing It

2008-01-09T08:34:00.000-05:00

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.

I Have Come to the Conclusion That Hookers Are Not for Me

2008-01-08T09:56:00.000-05:00

A guy friend of mine and myself had been partying and didn't feel like going home, so we went to a whorehouse. It is not hard to do here in Reno, NV, all you need to do is drive to the outlying counties and there you are, whorehouse haven.

You walk into the place and the madam calls all the available girls to stand in a line in front of you for you to choose from. Most commonly the John delays his choice until later preferring to sit at the bar and have a $10 beer while he decides (at least this is what my friend and I did). Negotiations are not allowed to be made in the open area of the bar lounge area, when a girl approaches you she asks to take you to her room to discuss rates. In the 20 or so minutes it took for me to drink my beer I noticed quite a few Johns going back to negotiate only to return quite soon afterwards, obviously not having come to settle on a price. I was approached by a older Asian lady, she was attractive and I liked the idea of being with an Asian so we went to negotiate. A co-worker of mine who frequents these establishments had told me he pays $150 for a 1/2 & 1/2 (half blow job, half sex) so I had a mental parameter of where I needed to be. When I proposed my offer the prostitute scoffed and said she would only perform a hand job for a $150, which I realized later as I walked back to the parlor, relieved me. When I returned from my failed negotiation my friend was going to the back with another girl. Time had gone by and it was obvious that he had made an agreement as he was gone for 1/2 hour. When he returned we both left the whorehouse and returned home. He told me he paid $150 for the hand job and a bj with a condom on. He laughed at my story of the scowling Asian.

That was when I was 22. I am now 31 and found myself home on Craiglist looking at their "erotic" section. Here is a list of local girls with pictures, prices, and cell phone numbers for outcall (your place) or incall (their place) services. I decided to give it a try and got a girl to come over. It was all pretty awkward and I found myself actually faking orgasm so she would leave. I felt pretty scummy and showered three times before I went to bed that night. I have come to the conclusion that hookers are not for me.

I Was a Naif at Sex

2008-01-07T15:29:00.000-05:00

I was 19-23 and in Europe/Asia on Uncle Sam's dime. I was also a naif at sex (one prior experience). I landed in Europe first, specifically Frankfurt, Germany, for a month before heading to my permanent duty station. Outside of the main train station in Frankfurt was the city's sex district, probably 2 or 3 city blocks square. I utilized it weekly, picking out a huge brothel that was only known as Crazy Sexy. You walked in via a parking garage into a huge, nearly barren room: to the right of the entrance was a bar, to the left was a series of arcade machine. Throughout the room were the main supporting concrete pillars for the building. The floor itself was concrete. The air was always thick with hash smoke, the walls lined mostly with young G.I.s. On the main floor were all the girls - Crazy Sexy advertised 300 women. I got it in my head that I would come once a week until I had been with all 300. Impossible and stupid, but that's what I tried.

The typical experience for me was enter, have a drink, catch a contact buzz and decide who appeared fetching to me that night. Once the woman agreed (had to be her choice; prostitution in Germany was legal and if the lady in question said no at any point you would meet the polizie) we went upstairs (3 stories) to her room. We undressed and the woman would wash me and inspect for and STIs - then the prophylactic went on - always.

I would guess it was never no longer than 15-20 minutes before you would start to hear the click click click of the German shepherds the bouncers walked up and down the hallways, your cue to finish up.

I went at least weekly, sometimes twice or three times a week, when I was not in the field. This held true for the 2 years I was in Europe.

Asia was the same only more relaxed. I think that's right. In Asia it was normal to go into a barber shop, on base, and receive an $8 haircut, with $2 more for a manicure, and an additional $5 for oral sex - all at the same time. There were at least 5 chairs filled at any time. Sex on the economy was similar to the Europe experience, except the 'foreplay' was different - there were more subtle patterns to the initial greetings and information exchange before the actual sex...

Individual experiences were always different, some slightly, some markedly, but the common denominator throughout was the absolute zero tolerance of violence toward any of the women - it was worth your life in some places. Conversely, I heard about places - especially while in Asia - that not only countenanced violence, but offered it a la carte.

I Am a Normal and Charming Guy

2008-01-04T08:51:00.000-05:00

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.

The Night I Drove a Call Girl to Her Next Stop

2008-01-03T20:34:00.000-05:00

I am writing because I can’t tell this story to anyone I know and retain my dignity, but since your soliciting I figured I can get it off my chest.

I’m twenty-something. I’m attractive and ambitious. I am successful with a good paying job, a nice car. I date a wonderful woman that keeps me interested and turned on despite the fact that we have been involved for quite a long time.

With that being said I find the idea of paying for sexual acts to be erotic. I can’t put my finger on what about it turns me on, but there is something that does it for me. It’s extremely rare for me to act on my urges though, really because I can think of better way to spend my money. Getting laid has never been a problem for me, which may be a contributing factor to my lack of ambition.

The first time was in Canada, Niagara Falls to be exact. I was 19 and it was amazing, although consisted of nothing more than a massage with a happy ending. It seems that this is all I really look for in a visit. The thought of actually sticking my dick into a prostitute does nothing for me. Furthermore, kissing, going down on or all in all a whole lot of contact in general with a working girl is a turn off. My problem is I think of some disgusting toothless smelly trucker doing the same thing prior to my arrival and I’m disgusted.

This night in particular I was driving home from a job out of town. I was exhausted, I had not been laid in a number of days due to opposing schedules and her little monthly visit, and while driving on the interstate I had started cruising the craigslist erotic services section.

After getting close to town I made the call, spoke with a girl that looked attractive and offered reasonably priced services, and headed to the gas station near her hotel.

Getting back in touch with her was a pain in the ass, but she finally directed me to a room in a small seedy motel and I headed over. As soon as I got out of my car I smelled something vile, which set the tone for the night.

As normal my stomach was in knots as I walked up to the door. When it opened I had to look twice. This blonde haired troll is not what was in the pictures. If it was, she had an amazing photographer or was very handy with photoshop.

Push came to shove and before I knew it I was naked on the bed. She was doing her thing and I was standing at attention, but it all went downhill. The final straw was when she started beating my balls hard enough to make them hurt on the down stroke.

Finally I threw in the towel and told her I was done. It was frustrating and embarrassing to say the least. While I was getting my shit together she mentioned needing a ride to another town about an hour away. She was not fishing for a ride by any means, simply telling the story of how she ended up in this room on this night. I figured she already had my money, I minus well get an adventure out of the night even if it was a bit less sexual in nature than originally intended.

I spent an hour talking to a girl my age that followed a completely different path. She was broke, she had a daughter to a guy that took care of her most of the time, she had no license, no car, no real job to speak of, no manners, and no class. To top it off she talked with this ghetto accent that screamed white trash with an identity crisis.

Despite all of this, she had just traveled across the country by greyhound bus for the hell of it, fucking for her bus tickets and hotel rooms. She had ‘run’ 6 girls at one time scheduling all of them and reaping the benefits. She gave me a new outlook on a whole bunch of things and even offered me a job being a body guard/driver for a couple of girls.

By the time we got to another seedy motel I had learned a lot about her, and something about myself.

She gave me a card and told me to call her some time. For the first time of the evening she shot me a look out of the corner of her eye and she actually looked cute.

I never did call her, and I can’t remember her name. One thing I will never forget is the night I drove a call girl to her next stop.

This is mediocre writing but it’s been a long day and my vocabulary went out the window about an hour ago. If you want to publish this, feel free but please don’t attach my email address.

Keep up the great work and Happy New Year.