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 Wanted Them To Leave Happy

The rooms were small, most had a corner shower but one had a hot tub. In the winter we'd run the hot water a while to warm them up. The guys would come in, pay $25 for a half hour and pick their girl. For $40 they could get laid, or "half and half," a blow job was $30, but some girls would do it for less. The desk didn't care if you took less, but they'd fine you or cut your shifts if they found out you were over charging. The year was 1979 and this was a massage parlor in small town Connecticut. I worked there two years, and I loved it. I had a college degree from a good school, real jobs, no drug problems, no loser boyfriend or pimp. Each girl had a kind of persona--sex kitten, earth mother, grad student, biker chic, victim. I went with preppy girl next door. I gave great blow-jobs, didn't always make them wear a rubber, let some kiss me, faked great orgasms when I wasn't actually having one, listened endlessly, commiserated, told amazing stories, and was very very popular. I usually worked 4 days a week, preferably the day shift, on a good day I'd see 9 or 10 guys, a slow day maybe 3. I had a lot of regulars--lawyers, truck drivers, shrinks, clergy of every kind, a famous writer, old guys, regular guys. I averaged $1200 to $1400 a week. We did not have to kick back any to the desk. I saved my money, and invested it. Remember now, at this time, teachers were making maybe $15,000 a year. Most of my friends from college were making less than $200 a week. I wanted to buy a house, maybe open a restaurant. The two guys who owned the place were easy to get along with, not abusive, mostly just business men. Once in a while they'd hit a girl up for "extras," but overall they were benign. They pretty much left us alone. The girls more or less got along. We could wear what we wanted, some chose lingerie, some leotards or one piece swimsuits, I wore short shorts and heels (remember candies mules?) or in winter, boots. We read magazines, watched soaps, constantly ordered food, talked-talked-talked. If a girl fit in--didn't try to over charge, didn't overtly try to steal customers from other girls or take them "outside," did her share of the work, and didn't shoot drugs, she could stay. If not, we'd push her out. We were mostly in our 20's, but one was at least 50. All sizes, some very cute, some not. Some girls never had more than 1 or 2 guys a shift, some of us would have a lot of appointments and guys lined up, waiting. There were 5 girls on a shift and 4 rooms. The guy would pay for his time out front, come into the lounge and pick who he wanted, we'd put him in any available room and tell him to get undressed and to take a shower. They didn't always want to and that was up to the girl. No talking about "services" or money until they were naked. This was in case they were cops, but in the time I was there, we were never bothered, although I don't know why. I learned real quick to get the money up front. The rooms each had a large, solid massage table, a small table with a lamp, and a radio. There was a TV mounted up high and they could pay $5 extra to have a porn movie on, which most of the girls hated--it almost felt like competition, more than help. Sometimes, especially if it was their first time, we'd start out giving them the massage they were ostensibly there for. If he was a regular they'd just put the money on the table and we'd go from there. Some of the guys were really great--some had great bodies and were young and good looking, some were quick and easy, some wanted to go down on you. I would tolerate it briefly if they weren't so good at it (most), and lay back and enjoy it if they were. I got off a lot. If I didn't, I faked it. Either way, they loved it. For the fucking I liked to be on top--more control, but sometimes I'd let them do it doggy. I did not take it up the ass. Still, I was always in control. I tried to be patient, and would really work hard to get them off, but I would not let them pound me endlessly. I'd use my tits, I'd lick their balls, sometimes I'd end up having to jerk them off, many guys have a hard time coming. I wanted them to leave happy. If they were impossible to please, looking for trouble, drunk, coked up, or hateful, I'd get them out fast and wouldn't see them again. Sometimes, if I could see right from the beginning that we weren't going to get along, I'd try to get another girl to take them, or get them to go for a two-some. Usually in the two girl sessions we'd fake going down on each other, but there were always a few girls you could really do it with. Some guys were not so great. Cheap, grabby, hard to do, demanding, stinky, crude. They would try to get away with things by saying that another girl had done it, so you should too. We all got stuck doing these guys from time to time. I found that there seemed to be less problem guys, more older guys (easier) on the day shifts. Most times we'd finish and lay there talking until their time was up. Some guys were more interested in talking than getting off. Yes, we had the foot fetishists, the slaves, the others. These guys always had to pay extra, so most of us liked doing them. One guy, in particular, we all loved. We called him "park bench." He did not get undressed, he laid face down on the table, and the girl sat on him, naked, reading a magazine, not talking to him. After about 20 minutes he'd say thank-you, and that was it. I had a lot of regulars, and some that I really liked, that maybe not many other girls would. One guy who was in his 90's and couldn't afford much, he was a $20 hand job. He did get off, but not much came out. I worried when I didn't see him for a while. I had a very very fat guy, very smart interesting guy, he was not easy to do, but he was generous, and I liked him. More than one highly neurotic professor, and a very acerbic conductor (symphonies not trains) that was a very smart unhappy man--but fun to talk to. Some guys were almost like real lovers, I liked them, most of course were instantly forgettable. The worst things that happened to me? I got ripped off a couple of times, once by a girl, and I got crabs once which completely freaked me out. No diseases, no violence, no bad dreams. I always liked sex before selling it, and I still do. I have always felt good about myself. It has always seemed to me that it was more like being a therapist, albeit a very intimate one, than something dirty or immoral. I left this place for a trick (what he was as I didn't even like him) who set me up in a condo and gave me money to open a restaurant (I absconded). I worked as a very high end escort in NYC (big money, studio 54, drugs, some well known guys), ran my own service in South Florida for a year (a girl got raped and beat up--I closed the service), got married, got divorced, and am now back in the business. I live in a very hip, alternative, new-agey mountain town, where being 50ish is not the kiss of death for a woman. I'm calling it "intimate touch for healing and well-being." I found I missed it. Also, I grow organic vegetables.