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.

I'm Dressed To Kill

I am writing this with an hour before I meet a new john, and as always I am nervous, my heart beats faster and I'm dressed to kill. What boots! What a skirt! If my teenage self could see me now she would swoon with envy and pride. I look amazing and I know it, but that's not the point.

I am also, as always, conflicted. As a women with radical feminist politics, this is the one area where I diverge from the dominant opinions of that group. I am constantly evaluating how I can be a truly feminist sex worker. For me that question of feminist integrity matters more than how to be a safe sex worker, a high paid sex worker, or anything else. My integrity is the most important thing, and I never do anything with a john that I wouldn't do by my own choice.

I turn down the piss requests, the "will you let my dog fuck you?" guys, the ones who try to bargain for more time and less money. I do not turn down the ugly ones, the lonely ones, the very hairy and sexually confused ones. There is something in me that loves them and their small perversions, loves the taboo of sex work and the incredibly novel situations that I find myself in. As an Ivy league masters candidate, this is not my last resort. I've lived with the love of my life for years and am satisfied in every way by our love/sex/friendship. I'm educated and well adjusted, yet I am also a working girl. We tend to defy your expectations, don't we?

For me sex work is more intellectual than anything else. My reward is the money, but most importantly the understanding.

The truth is, I often feel less safe around men I'm not sleeping with for money, the ones who harass me on the street or at my day job. The patriarchy is so overpowering and omnipresent that my feminist self feels in danger almost everywhere. What I like about sex work is the exploration, the digging through layers of sexism and sexual politics, finding where I stand and how men act when they are given free reign. It's a chance to dig through the hidden and bizarre aspects of our lives, and it fascinates me.

Sometimes johns are beautiful. Sometimes they are violent, or threatening.

But they always teach me something, however small, about the realities of human existence and I feel privileged that they let me in.

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.

I Am 26

I am 26. I'm a grad student in New York. Internet men pay to spank me.

If I don't maintain certain grades, I lose my scholarship, and at the beginning of the semester I was flipping my shit about this one class, insisting I was going to fail and whatnot. I was wondering how I was going to pull three or six thousand dollars out of my ass, depending on how bad I did, and my friend said, "It's too bad you don't live upstate, because my friend Mary has a dude that pays her a fuckton of money to just spank her. No sex." So I had to figure that if Mary can find a dude like this upstate, there HAS to be people like this in NYC I can find. And I have a high tolerance for pain and a passing interest in spanking, so it was on.

I didn't even have to post on CL. In the erotic services section, there were even men that posted stating they were looking for that and would pay for it. So kind of on a whim (with a lot of encouragement from my friend that gave me the idea) I went into Manhattan to meet a southern banker who was in NYC for business. We agreed on half an hour but he seemed nervous and rushed me out after about 25 minutes. I really think he was suddenly feeling guilty about what he just did or I could be making that up because of whatever stereotypes I have in my head about clean-cut married guys from the south.

It's weird though, and I'm not sure if this happens with other types of sex workers... But when he emailed me again to say he'd be back in NYC and wanted to meet again, he was concerned about how HE did. He wanted to know if he spanked too hard, how things were for me, what else I like, what he could do better, etc. I was thinking, "Seriously? You're paying me $360 and YOU want to make sure I am happy?" I really do wonder if that is common, so I hope you get letters from other girls.

Since I don't have sex with these guys, I have convinced myself that it isn't really "sex work" and I am not really a sex worker, but I kind of know that's bullshit. Oh, and of course I ended up getting an A in that class I was so worried about in the first place. But I will probably keep doing this, because getting spanked for money is kind of more of a turn-on than getting spanked in my personal life. In my personal life it always seems so contrived and scripted and set up, and I have a hard time playing along. But a bunch of money is a powerful motivator for me to play along, and it's kind of a thrill.

One problem I have is that I bruise REALLY easily, so after I meet someone for this, I end up with a purple ass for like a week. Which is annoying because it prevents me from having sex during that time, since there's only 2 people that know I do this, and there is no way I am explaining to someone I am about to have sex with that, oh, my ass is all bruised today because a man with several umlauts on his name gave me "the strap".

I know it's dangerous, and I'm not gonna pretend like I'm safe because I only pick "trustworthy" people to meet. You never really know, and no matter how careful I am, there's still a nonzero chance that I'll end up stuffed in a garbage can in Brooklyn and some dude will find me 3 days later when he's walking his dog. Or something.