I Was A Girl Who Had Gone To A Prostitute

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where to begin.

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

I've Moved Up In Life

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 Night I Drove a Call Girl to Her Next Stop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep up the great work and Happy New Year.