I Was A Thirty Four Year Old Virgin

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

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

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 Was Smitten

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

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

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

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

I've Seen Every Kind Of Hooker Going

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Have a Physical Disability

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.