I Was A 35 Yr Old Single Mom

I was a 35 yr old single mom who did not receive child support payments the court had ordered. I made money as a personal trainer, a yoga instructor, a bikini bar dancer and a stripper. After being injured and out of work long enough to go through my savings, I found my self in a desperate position. While placing my perishables in my neighbor’s refrigerator and freezer (the power was cut off in my apt. ) I felt desperate & ashamed, but thank goodness, I was pretty.

That night, I left my son with my neighbor and dragged myself into the bikini bar. Once there I got dressed, hit the floor and immediately ran into a good looking, lighter haired, younger version of Richard Gere. He was my age, happily married to a beautiful woman who graduated from the university I dreamed of attending. He was a successful, upper middle class businessman.

We had instant chemistry and an ease you usually reserve for close friends. I told him point blank, “I need $300 to get my electricity turned back on”. He made some silly joking response and told me he would cover it, I went further with him in the VIP than I’d ever gone before, allowing him to touch my breast through my clothing and feeling him up as well. By the end of the night, I had the $300 and his phone number. He left with the knowledge that I enjoyed sex and needed help financially. We started seeing each other about once a week, at my apt. when he was supposed to be on his way to work. He didn’t like to have a set amount, so I would let him know what I needed and for what and he would give me the money. In his mind, I guess that made me a girlfriend or mistress instead of a whore. His wife got pregnant and had a child during our time together. I moved to a better neighborhood and he helped with the move and rent. We talked like really good friends, but, toward the end, I was rude and mean just to get rid of him.

I’m not sure what I was thinking when I finally pushed him out of my life, but, soon enough after that, I was out of money and driving to Vegas after a full year of not stripping, begging the manager to let me work his busy shift. I was driving my broke-assed vehicle and singing along fervently with the song lyrics, “Send me an Angel”.

I changed the lyrics and sang out the window, “Send me an angel that can help me get out of debt! Help me get a safe car to drive my kid to school and back! Help me pay for the tools and classes that I need to get better work as an artist! Help me pay for tutoring for my son and healthy groceries and clothes that don’t smell like the last person who owned them even after we wash them again and again!!!! Help me! Help!!!!”

The first customer I ran into was that angel. He was 58 and I was 36. He was a short, successful businessman who liked to take care of and rescue women.

I didn’t have sex with him that night, or the next, I was playing the good girl that I actually was- in another dimension. I went to a party with him, then to his place, then to breakfast, then shopping for clothes and shoes. He gave me his huge beautiful, shiny new spare SUV to drive home to my son and enough cash to cover my rent for the month. By the time I had sex with him, he had given me a credit card with my name on it, a full wardrobe, I had met his friends and colleagues. I cum easy, so the sex is never bad, but, with him it wasn’t great, just good. Of course he never knew that, especially when I ejaculated (I cum easy). I loved the way he treated me, but, was not in love with him. In fact, I could barely stand him. He was a white republican and I was not. I was infiltrating the world of greedy, white, socially conservative men while fully taking advantage of his adoration for my body. I was his whore, though he would have called me his girlfriend, for 8 months. I once counted up all the things I had him purchase, my rent, the cash and the credit card bill and realized I had earned over 150,000 in that 8 months of companionship and sex with a man I didn’t love or care about. I joined a sort of escort service (really just a rich freak who liked to set up older men with hot women) after that and went on 5 or 6 "dates" for anywhere from $500 $1,000 until the tools I had acquired and the skills I had developed (creative computer software) allowed me to start a career in the new media industry. I'm in my 40's now and single. I miss the sex, the power and the instant money of the days I sold my sexuality.

To this day, I look at housewives and girlfriends who don’t pay their own way and wonder if they realize they are prostitutes.

I Said Yes

I placed a personal ad with the offer to meet a client at a hotel for a private lap-dancing session. I had been a dancer for three years, but had started to hate going to the clubs. I enjoyed the sensuality and intimacy of the job, but hated the crowds, noise, and cigarette smoke. The ad stressed that the sessions would be dancing only. I got many. many replies to the ad. I sent them all a list of "rules" saying that they would not be allowed to touch my breasts or vagina, had to keep their clothes on, etc. I also asked that we meet first in a public place for a cocktail or coffee. I phrased this as "us getting to know each other" but it was basically to give my gut a chance to tell me whether I would be safe with the person. I was polite, but firm about all of my requests. Very few of the initial responders followed up with me after this, but the ones who did sounded respectful and sane.

The first client I met was a guy from out of town, M. He sounded very nervous in the e-mails we exchanged, and I wasn't sure he would actually keep the date we made that evening at an upscale bar downtown, but I dressed up and went anyway. I had sent him a picture, but he had not sent one to me. When I got to the bar, I wasn't sure how to find him. I took a seat at the bar within sighting distance of the door and waited. A few different men were making eye contact with me but it was hard to tell if they were just flirting or if they were expecting me. After a few minutes, a man sitting at a table by himself waved at me. I went and introduced myself, and it was M.

The first thing he told me was that he was not going to go through with our date, but he felt bad about standing me up and would buy me a drink and tip for my time. We had a drink together and I drew him out about what he was looking for. As a dancer, I know lots of ways to set men at their ease and encourage them to open up to me.

He told me a familiar story: his wife, whom he described as "gorgeous" and who he said he still loved, was no longer interested in sex. He, of course, was still interested. I've heard many versions of this story over the years, and it always makes me sad. I have no judgement for either person in the relationship -- I don't enough to judge -- but I feel for anyone who wants intimacy and closeness and isn't getting it. I've been there myself.

He told me that I was too young; I was 28 and he was 53. He said he wasn't looking for a "model type", but rather, a real woman. (Um, models are real women too, for anyone who doesn't know.) He talked about how much he missed touching and holding and looking at a woman. We kept talking about the human need for intimacy, and I could tell he did want the meeting. I asked him he was ready to go the hotel ("assuming the sale" like this is an old technique I always used to sell $250/hr Champagne Room visits at the strip clubs) and he said yes.

I met him at his hotel and we went up to his room together. It was a very nice room, in a nice hotel, but not an ideal situation for lapdancing. There was one big arm-chair and a bed. I would have preferred a sofa or loveseat to dance on, but we made it work. It was much more intimate than dancing in the club, where there are lights and noise and distraction. He closed his eyes and barely looked at me, just wanted to hug me and touch my skin. I took my time getting out of my clothes and down to the nice lingerie I had underneath. We did about an hour of slow, quiet dances, and then he asked if we could stand up and hug. I said yes. He held me like that for several minutes.

Then he asked if we could lie down. I thought it over and decided I was comfortable with it, but when he asked if he could undress I said no. We lay down together and he continued touching my back and legs. He was very gentle and attentive, and it felt good. I got somewhat turned on physically, and made sure to let him see my response, since I could tell that was very important to him. However, I was much too much on my guard to really get into what was happening. For the most part he was very respectful. At one point he tried to kiss me, but stopped when I asked him to. Later, he tried to reach inside my panties, but I moved his hand away and he didn't try again. I appreciated his respect for my boundaries. Because he was so respectful, I was able to relax and enjoy his touching.

We had a pleasant, playful time together, and ended up spending several hours. I was charging $200 an hour, and it added up to a lot of money. He paid me at the end and counting out the money seemed to kill the mood for both of us a little bit. I made a mental note that if I did this again I would ask for the money up front. (I had seen him get the money out of the ATM next to the bar, so I knew how much he had...otherwise I wouldn't have proceeded with the session.)

Afterwards, he offered to drive me back to the bar and I felt safe enough with him to accept. The drive was slightly awkward. He seemed to feel odd about dropping me off back on the street. I wondered if he was having regrets about the session. He was rather cold when he said goodbye, and I was surprised to notice that I felt a little hurt. This was the only time during the session when I felt "dirty" about what I'd done. I felt he was judging me. I made a conscious decision not to let this bother me: I probably wouldn't see him again, and it was just a business transaction, so it doesn't really matter what he thinks about me. I would offer this advice to johns though: be nice to your hooker, even after you pay her. You're not the only one who has feelings about what just happened.

I Am Just An Ordinary Woman With The Knack Of Making People Love And Trust Me

I am not terribly good at writing letters, which is strange because my day job is one for which I write constantly. I am a journalist call girl. Or at least I was, until recently. I met someone. I quit before he had a chance to ask me to. It's just easier that way.

I think at this juncture, I should defend the men that came to see me. There was nothing wrong with them, and they were not perverts. Most of my clients were single, unhappily married or married to a person that couldn't understand their needs. One even had a wife with cancer. I know you're probably thinking that he's the worst of all, but sex is important. He needed the comfort and solace of flesh against flesh, and in today's society, the only way to get the flesh against flesh comfort is sex.

I guess my role as a sex worker was to reclaim the human contact that has been lost with our island centric way of living. When was the last time you truly just held a person that wasn't your lover with no thoughts of the sensuality of the situation? Touch used to be a very important thing for people. We want to be touched. We need to be touched. Truth be told, I did more pillow talk snuggling with my clients than anything else. Even the submissive clients, after their fill of their fetish, wanted to be cherished. The older men and the lonely men, which seemed to go hand in hand, raced through coitus and settled down for the rest of their time with my head on their chest to talk about their days. This is not the behaviour of deviants and perverts. This is the behaviour of a person reaching out for affection.

I think our world is in a sad state when a man, in order to get the affection, touch and attention that he requires for his mental well being, has to go to a sex worker. I will concede that some men's fetishes are a little too hot to hold for me, but on the whole, nothing that I consented to was so weird that the asker thereof should have a look of shame and disgust on his face as he asked it. I know you probably think that I'm desensitized to sexual weirdness, but a blow job is not weird. Men were ashamed of blow jobs. That was the taboo activity. Some men were even ashamed to enjoy girl on top coitus. Is our world so upside down that for a man to enjoy a woman in a seat of power is wrong?

I know my thoughts have been all over the place, but it's hard to write about these things without being outraged and a little mixed up. I also realize that I've said very little about me. Well, there's very little to tell. At first I needed the money, then I wanted the money. After the thoughts of the money dried up in my head, I turned myself to analysing my clients. In them I found a rich burial ground of feelings. They felt neglected, used, put upon and some other things that make me wish I went to school for psychiatry instead of journalism.

I am just an ordinary woman with the knack of making people love and trust me. These were just men who needed to love somebody who would let them. It's all so simple. Not complicated in the least. There were no perversions too perverse to get in the way of the trusting bond that was needed. Women suffer out loud, and men suffer in silence. Until we allow men to suffer out loud, many a wife will wonder where her husband is during his lunch hour, and in my opinion, a lot of those wives deserve it. (Not all of those wives.)

Of course, my life as a pampered call girl was a little different than the life of a pimped girl. I had the comfort of working in my own home and the freedom to choose with whom I slept. I wouldn't trade my experience for the world. My life as a hooker taught me all about the many faces of love and truth. Not to mention, I can curl a man's toes without even trying. I am proud of me.