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

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 Met This Girl

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 Told Myself I Was Just Being Honest

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'm Not a John

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

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 Was on the Verge of Losing It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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