I'd Settle For Somewhere Between Monogamy And Full Blown Prostitution

I'm not sure how I first got addicted to casual sex ads online. I think I'd been a single lesbian for so long that I was sick of everything – sick of the label "lesbian" and curious about men, and sick of having no sex life.

I started sleeping with fairly safe ordinary vanilla married men that I found on Craigslist and other sites. I screened them carefully – phoning them at work, getting real life details that I passed on to my friends so they always knew whom I was with. It really was a grand experiment. But I loved the thrill of it all and it wasn't long before I was seeing kinkier guys, and engaging in more extreme situations such as partner swapping and threesomes. I came to have a regular lover and we even explored swinging parties.

All of this boosted my self-esteem, my sex drive and my joy in living. I always had a smile on my face. I posed for a lesbian sex magazine as a centrefold – even though I was a size 16. I felt like I'd claimed my body and its sexuality. I started wondering if really I was bisexual.

Most of the time it an amazing journey. On the odd occasion, it was dull-as-dishwater sex with men who really bored me and had no skill in the bedroom. During those moments, I did wonder what the difference was between myself and a prostitute. After all, I was sleeping with men I didn't care for, that I'd met on-line, and would never have emotional attachments to. The only real difference was that I wasn't getting any cash at the end of the hour.

I started to put some of my own ads on-line – seeking dinner and drinks before sex, or even a sugar daddy arrangement. None of this I thought qualified me as a pro. Then I received an interesting offer. $1500 for my "anal virginity."

I considered the offer carefully, and talked to a few trusted friends. I found out that once of my friends did have a secret whoring past, while another admitted to working in a brothel as a "receptionist." I was surprised. I decided they seemed well adjusted enough, and that I'd take the money. I emailed the guy to say I'd be up for it. But he never came through with a time or date, and I eventually figured he was stringing me along in exchange for the few naked photos I'd sent.

Figuring I'd already come so far, I posted ads for my services – marketing myself as a curvy F cup, bisexual prostitute. I asked for an outrageous rate, about $2000 an hour, and planned to book a hotel room in a different city for a few days to see how it all went. The emails flowed thick and fast – but none of my potential johns could match the $2000 an hour – apparently the going rate for a BBW woman was about $200, even if she was bisexual and double-degree educated!

I thought about it. $200 an hour didn't actually seem like a lot of money, considering I was earning about $1000 a week just to work in an office. And working in an office was at least a job I felt I could admit to. So I didn't go through with it. Mostly because I didn't think the money would compensate for the stress of a secret life on the side.

Two years down the track, and I'm in a monogamous relationship with another woman. I do love her, but I'm sexually frustrated, miss sleeping with men, and miss the excitement of online hook-ups. I'm glad I never actually accepted cash-for-sex but wish I could negotiate some middle ground of excitement. I'd settle for somewhere between monogamy and full-blown prostitution.

I Figured This Would Be A Little Psychological Experiment

I did not consider myself as a former sex worker until I began reading these blogs from women just like myself. Actually, I don't know if you would consider me as a former "sex" worker. I sold my voice, imagination, and an image instead of my body. Plus size girls don't exactly have a niche carved out for them in the high-priced escort business. Not that I know of anyway!

I was putting myself through college when a chance meeting with a new friend put me in the phone sex path. She told me all about it, and it sounded so new. I went to a private school my entire life and had always been very interested in sex and the psychology of it. I figured this would be a little psychological experiment. Little did I know that I would end up evaluating why I was fucked in the head instead of strange men who wanted me to talk about fucking them up the ass with a carrot.

My friend was giving me a pep talk before my first night. "Make them feel special." "Keep note cards on what they like." "Stay with the same story about how you lost your virginity so no one knows you are lying." I made $300 my first weekend. $300! For just talking! I could not believe it. I was addicted. Literally.

I could not stop. If I was ever away from that phone, all I would be thinking about was when I would be getting back. The money was my drug. I was with a guy, and he knew what I was doing. He was cool with it, but we never saw each other. I became a shell of myself.

I was hearing things from my Johns that I had no idea existed. From men wanting me to laugh at how small their penises were to men wanting me to talk about them getting fucked by a bunch of black men. Men would talk about beating me. I would get calls from all over the world. Some men just wanted to talk, though.

After a while of doing that I realized I had to stop because I was not living my life for me. I was living for the money.

Then the bomb dropped. It had been happening all along, but I had just noticed it after I quit. I was completely and utterly disgusted with having sex. Whenever my boyfriend touched me, I would push him away. The thought of having sex was revolting. I could not stop thinking about how dirty I felt.

I am not saying that anyone who is or has been a sex worker should feel dirty. I think it comes down to the fact that I, myself, felt cheap, in a way. Maybe if I were making the big bucks in the city, I would feel different... Just kidding.

To this day, I am still very open with talking about sex. I still find sex and the psychology of it interesting. I even toy with the idea of being a sexologist. I am now about to marry to the guy I was dating back then. And, my family has no idea that this was ever a part of my life. And, yes, my fiance can touch me without me trying to kick him in the balls.