I Wanted To Kill Myself

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'm a Young Black Guy

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 Couldn't Shut the Fuck Up

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

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

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

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

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

I 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.

I Almost Was Caught

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

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

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

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

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

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