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.
Showing posts with label REJECTION. Show all posts
Showing posts with label REJECTION. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
I've Moved Up In Life
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.
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.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, February 18, 2008
I've Always Been a Quiet, Shy Guy
I've always been a quiet, shy guy, overweight, and not very attractive. I've never had many relationships because I always let those things hold me back from even trying. I've only had sex with one girl and that was just twice, and it wasn't very good. So I guess I'm the perfect candidate for a prostitute, since my anxiety about rejection keeps me alone.
I always liked to read the ads on Craigslist, other online sites, and local free papers. I always thought about calling, but probably chickened out hundreds of times. One night when I was 27, I finally had the nerve to actually call one. It wasn't as bad as whatever I had imagined in my head. The conversation was easy, what kind of girl would you like, etc.? After hanging up, the real panic set in. Someone is actually coming over to my house. The rate was $150 which I carefully counted and had ready nearby.
About an hour later there was a knock at my door. I answer and there is a big guy and 2 pretty girls. The girl I had called for was a cute younger brunette with a nice body; I don't really remember the blond girl. I learned that the big guy drives them from place to place and he is also there to check the place out and make sure no one else is there for the girl's safety. So it started out with this guy going through every room of my house and looking in my closets. Now that I have this experience, I think escort agencies should let guys know about this, because I almost told them to leave right then. I was very nervous and looking for any excuse to call the whole thing off. I wasn't expecting a group of people to show up and go through my things.
After the inspection, the girls tried to upsell me to have both of them. I was shy enough with one girl, two was more than I'd know what to do with. That and I was very uncomfortable discussing this kind of stuff with a group of people. The guy and the other girl went out to the car and waited. The brunette girl explained that the $150 was for the agency. If I wanted anything more than for her to dance for me, it would cost more. I didn't know much about this stuff but was in no place to argue. It was almost kind of funny: I had to break open my piggy bank (I keep bills in it) to get more cash. I ended up scraping together another $100. For that amount, she agreed to dance for me while I masturbated. Not what I was hoping for but too shy to just say forget it. She had me take my shorts off and sit on the couch while she turned the TV to MTV2. She disrobed, handed me some lube and started dancing. I got hard after a minute or two and started stroking myself. It seemed like forever, maybe 10 minutes, nothing much is happening. I'm jerking, she's dancing, but it's just not happening.
Then a funny thing happens. I'm in a townhouse, and I can see my neighbors coming home through the crack in the window. The crack's not big, but in passing if they were to look, they can see in. My brain goes crazy. "Great. The couple next door is coming home, can hear the loud music, and see a naked girl dancing in my living room. Not to mention there is another couple parked in my driveway for no explicable reason. What are they going to think of me now?"
I just kept going. After a couple more minutes, the girl stops dancing and asks me if there is a problem, because clearly if you've been masturbating for about 15 minutes and nothing has happened, something is wrong. I just said no, and she went back to dancing. After another 5 minutes or so, I was finally able to come. She handed me a towel, got dressed, and that was it. She left.
I felt so stupid later. All I could think was that my neighbors now probably think I'm some weird pervert. That, and essentially I paid $250 to jerk off. I thought it was going to be something that made me happy, maybe even feel better about myself, or more confident. It was just the opposite: embarrassing, demoralizing, and depressing.
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.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I Am a Normal and Charming Guy
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.
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.
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