I’ve been fascinated by prostitution since I was introduced to Mary Magdalene at church. Society has also seemed to be transfixed with it for as long as men and women have congregated. So when the opportunity arose in my final semester of university to get a first-hand look at the world’s oldest profession, I leapt at the chance.
It all started when one of my best friends Simón told me about his most recent hook up. A French producer was in town working on a film and had come across Simón’s profile. After chatting for a while the guy told him to come over, that he would “make it worth his while.” Intrigued and not quite grasping what the producer had implied, Simón agreed to meet him at his hotel.
The next day Simón insisted that I meet him for a beer because he had something he needed to discuss with me.
“He had a $100 dollar bill on the table and told me it was mine if I let him suck my dick.” My jaw dropped: Simón had always said this was not the sort of thing he would ever do, and yet here he was recounting his tale.
Simón himself wasn’t sure what to make of the experience, so in my typical fashion I proceeded to offer words of reassurance. I told him there was nothing wrong with what he had done; someone had wanted something from him and been willing to pay, and since both parties had been on the same page he had nothing to worry about.
As I listened to the words coming out of my mouth and watched as Simón visibly relaxed, the wheels began to turn in my head. If Simón, could do it, then why not satisfy my own curiosity and have a go at it?
An important fact to me was that I didn’t need the money. I wasn’t working at the time but had more than enough in the bank to get me through the semester, go on a few trips, live it up that summer, etc. Had I needed the money I don’t think I could have gone through with it, in much the same reason that I’ve never worked as a waiter and would probably only be willing to try it as an experiment yet would be adverse to doing it if I needed the money. I’m just not cut out for the service industry…
And so it was that I decided to experiment and try my hand at escorting. I set up an escort profile on a few sites with nude and semi-nude pictures I had from a previous photo shoot, gave myself a stage name, and established my ground rules: no one could fuck me and I wouldn’t suck any dick. I love sucking dick, but I just didn’t want to suck my customers’. Other than that, I was open-minded. I told Simón what I was up to and promised to keep him apprised.
Within 24 hours I had a story to tell him. A businessman in his 40s contacted me and told me he was in town. He wanted my thick mixed dick in his ass and wanted to know how much an hour of my cock would cost.
Fuck—I hadn’t even bothered to think about prices. I recalled that Simón had been given $100 to have his dick sucked, but I didn’t know if that was the standard escort price. What’s more, this guy wanted me to pound his ass, which would logically cost more than a blowjob. Not knowing where exactly to turn for guidance, I decided to try my luck. “$300,” I typed, and waited for him to reply. “Sounds good,” he wrote back in a response that included his number. After calling him to get his hotel information, I got ready to go meet my first customer.
I had an appointment, but I was still nervous about one thing as I arrived at the hotel: would I even be able to fuck this guy? He wasn’t ugly and his age wasn’t a problem at all for me, but he wasn’t really my type. Add to that the fact that I was being paid and thus expected to perform well, and you can see why I found myself doubting my decision to conduct my experiment as the elevator ascended, bringing me closer to his floor with each passing second.
But my butterflies disappeared the moment I knocked on the door, and my acting training kicked in. “Special delivery,” I said without a trace of doubt when the man’s face greeted me from behind the semi-opened door. He smiled as he opened the door wider to let me in.
“And here I expected you to be naked and ready for my cock,” I teased once the door was shut.
“I’m definitely ready,” he said as he started to undo his belt. “But I’m not,” I scolded. “Why don’t you come unwrap your package first?” He quickly shifted gears and moved to undress me.
After he sucked me hard I put on a rubber and did exactly what I had promised him: I plowed his ass real good. And though he wasn’t really my type, I still had no problems getting the job done.
Though he was paying for an hour, he was ready to cum after about 20. I pulled out of him, ripped off the condom, and finished myself off while he watched. After that I thought I would bounce pretty quickly, but we actually spent the next 30 minutes just talking. It turned out he was from Houston but was often in Austin on business and was looking for a regular escort. In truth, I think having someone to talk to was just as important to him as getting reamed.
After our conversation I quickly showered, got dressed, took my money, and left. I played it cool on the elevator ride down to the lobby, but once I walked outside, I couldn’t help but beam.
It hit me then that I had just did a service for someone, that I had constructively contributed to society and earned money for doing so. Like I said, I wasn’t working at the time, so I was ecstatic at having actually been a contributing member of society. It was a feeling that I hadn’t expected.
With that in mind I decided to head to the bookstore, grinning madly as I walked, pleased to be a working member of society. “And why the hell should I not feel good,” I thought as I walked, “there was absolutely nothing wrong with making a contribution in that manner.” I imagined the guy going to a business meeting afterward, completely relaxed, able to keep his mind focused on his work. It was certainly a pleasant thought.
Over the next six months I had several regulars and a few one-time clients, each of whom was interesting in his own way. One night I got paid just under four digits to spend the night with a man in his 50s who wanted to be Saran wrapped and photographed and then fucked with a dildo. After I removed the multicolored Saran Wrap we moved to his fuck room, where I strapped him into a leather chair hanging from the ceiling and fucked him with my cock and a donkey-sized dildo.
My first experience with fisting also happened during this time. I was apprehensive at first, but then I remembered that I hadn’t included fisting on my list of no-gos, so I agreed to meet this guy in his late 30s. This same guy wanted to drink my piss, and I recall drinking fuck tons of water so that I would definitely have to pee once he got there. The fisting was strange at first, but also exciting in its own way. He too became a quasi-regular.
A retired chef in his 60s paid me to spend the day with him on a regular basis, and I even got to pick our destinations. For me it was a fun way to see some of the small towns near Austin that had always sounded interesting but where I’d never actually made plans to go. He would drive us in his Cadillac to where ever it was we were going that time, take me out to eat, enjoy exploring the town with me, and then take me back to his place to suck my dick—and never anything more than sucking my dick. He also gave me tips in addition to our usual arrangement on occasion for various reasons, for example to pay for the kendo class I had signed up for in the evenings.
One guy came over regularly for a massage (my flatmate had a massage table, which was perfect, though I never told him I used it) and expected me to wank afterward. Another one liked me to fuck him long and slow, and always left a big tip in addition to the price we had arranged.
There were a few odd encounters as well. One guy wanted to give me a check; I politely declined and extricated myself from the situation. Another guy always wanted to drive to some secluded parking lot and suck my dick in the car, coming close to telling me to fuck off the one time I suggest we get out of the car to go back into the trees behind the lot. One guy would only hire me with a second escort because he insisted on having two cocks in his ass at once, which gave me an opportunity to talk to other escorts. In terms of real creeps though, I certainly have nothing to complain about. Some may have been weird, but I didn’t deal with a single terrifying creep. Having heard and read other people’s experiences, I consider that a stroke of luck.
I also made a good friend in the process. One day a guy in his early 30s got in touch and said he wanted me to fuck both him and his boyfriend. They were both fucking hot, and I was definitely down. After the first time he got in touch again, but said if we got together again we would have to do it without a business transaction, because they weren’t the type to pay often. I was fine with that, and we ended up having a nice friend-with-benefits relationship. He even came to visit me much later while I was living in Berlin.
Though we didn’t become friends, the Houston businessman and I became at least acquaintances. At some point I was flying through Houston on my way to San Francisco and had a three-hour layover at the Houston airport. I told him I was coming and he picked me up, took me out to lunch, and paid me for my time, even though we didn’t do anything sexual at all. Most of our other rendezvous where similar to the first: a quick blowjob or fuck, and then a lot of time conversing.
In the six months that I escorted, I learned that while people are paying you for sex, they’re really paying you for a service. Whether it was sex, conversation, dinner companionship, etc., there was a certain commodity that they wanted. It was no different than paying someone for a non-sexual massage, or commissioning a painting, or having someone go clothes shopping with you. I felt no shame in having provided them with the services they required, and dealing with people who weren’t exactly my type instilled a huge respect for the people who work in the industry, who have to play their part despite their personal attraction to the customer. In an experiment setting that was fine for me; as an actual job I’m not sure I could always perform as expected.
At the onset I had said that I was only doing it because it was an experiment and that I couldn’t have done it if I had needed the money, and at the end that held true. Yes, I respected the profession, but like I said, in my opinion it is part of the service industry, and I just can’t play the jovial, accommodating role expected of people in the service industry. It might sound stupid, but I think I would rather starve than be a waiter or a flight attendant (especially in the US), not because I look down on the jobs but because ultimately my personality just doesn’t click with them. OK, if I were starving I might just consider it; I can say in all honesty the same applies to escorting.
And that’s not a judgment of the people offering their services and the people paying for said services in any branch of the service industry; it’s just an observation of why it’s a sector that’s not really for me, just like a 9-5 job is equally unsuited to my personality.
Before my experiment I didn’t really understand society’s aversion to prostitution and escorting, which played a large part in my decision to try it out. After the experiment I understood even less why so many people lose their shit at the prospect of sex workers plying their trade legally. As long as we’re not talking about carting women off from some country and forcing them to work in another, as long as we’re talking about mutual consent to enter into a business deal, what is the problem? If one person is willing to pay and another to get paid for human contact, then I see it as no less legit a business transaction than any other.