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'm Kind Of An Oddball Guy

I've paid for sex three times.

Once I was new to the West Coast and with no friends and I made eye contact with a pretty junkie walking down my street. We started talking and she asked me for money, so I proposed a trade. She was up for it so we walked to the atm and in the street she let me feel her breasts for a few minutes. It was a letdown, but I felt slightly thrilled. She was hot but sort of gross.

Several years later, I came home from a family visit late one night and was feeling energetic so I went to rent some pornos. As I was leaving the store I picked up a free magazine of ads for escorts, and when I got home I called one. She told me it would cost $300 on the phone and I agreed. When she got to my apartment she took the money down to her companion waiting in the car. Then she came back and wouldn't have sex with me! I was pissed. She was conning me. She finally did a strip tease while I masturbated, then left. I felt totally pissed and sad/ashamed hateful of myself and her. I basically resolved never to deal with prostitutes again because that was so shitty. It also made me somewhat misogynistic in a way.

A few years later I was driving on a rural highway and saw a sexy hitchhiker. I had this weird feeling so I turned around and picked her up. We drove for a while and talked, she was cool. When we got to my turnoff she said she needed to go another twenty miles and she would give me money if I would drive her the rest of the way. Instead I suggested that she give me a hand job instead and I would drive her. She said ok but only a handjob which was fine with me. That was a fairly pleasant experience overall even though it seemed kind of scandalous to me at the time.

The first and third weren't really formal prostitutes, but it was prostitution right, so I include them.

As for why, I'm kind of a oddball guy, I don't go to bars, and I am introverted, somewhat shy. My family of origin was dysfunctional and abusive, and touching and intimacy were never something I saw nice examples of until basically my twenties. I have had a number of serious girlfriends, but I tend to go a few years between them with practically zero hookups in between. Like most guys, I get very horny, and want someone to hold and touch. I don't feel like it's a desperate desire to avoid loneliness. It mostly feels like out of boredom and desire for physical stimulation and release.

I don't feel any regret or guilt consciously about these acts, though I wouldn't want people to know either.

It is sort of sad, but I do think paying/trading for sex has been around forever and serves a function.

I think it would be better if it was legal and not as marginalized where abuse and violence enter into it.

I don't think humans have figured out a functional form of sexual relationships. Traditional gender roles seem useless and non-productive, and these are generally mirrored in sexual roles and representation. Of course, that is true in prostitution as well, but to me it seems fairly rational and straightforward, which is more respectful of the participants than the unconscious charade psychodrama that usually constitutes regular romantic sex.

I'm Faithful In Every Other Sense Of The Word

I don't know how I got interested in prostitutes, but as I get older, and my sex drive increases, I find they're more of a necessity and less of a lark. If I don't get some kind of release at least once a week (and masturbation doesn't do it for me nearly as well as someone else doing it), in a massage parlor or with a prostitute.

I'm happily married, but my wife and I don't have sex nearly as often as we used to before our daughter was born, and unfortunately, it's starting to wear on me. Not only that, but when we do end up having sex, I have to do all the work, get her all worked up and then get to humpin' at her command. It's fine and everything, but sometimes it's nice to have someone focus on me, and my sexual needs and wants, for a change.

It's not emotional betrayal but rather a physical one, but I strangely don't feel guilty after, probably because I'm faithful in every other sense of the word. I always, always, always wear a condom so I don't bring anything home, but I think I'm getting more turned on by the random nature of the hooker-john relationship and the sexual freedom prostitutes engender.

Every time I go to a brothel, it gets a little bit more fun, also. The freedom I enjoy, the challenge of finding a whore I connect well with and can enjoy the act with, rather than it just be someone who's there because she has to be. The last time I went, I got to have sex with an older (then me, she was about 38. I'm 31) Russian lady, who still occupies a warm place in my heart because she looked me in the eyes as I climaxed and genuinely seemed to be interested in my pleasure.

That's what turns me on.