Why Do Women Pay For Sex

My erstwhile school friends and still fans, Anna and Regina, run a male escort service in Australia. Their agency is discreet, reliable and completely private- even the men’s’ photos are not featured in their online profiles, just their voices.

I recently did a Skype call with Anna, Regina and “Anthony” one of their star escorts to find out why women specifically pay for sex. “Anthony” insisted on being off camera for the entire interview, even as I repeatedly tried to entice him to look by showing the two women my boobs. Oh, did I mention that I met these girls when we all attended Orthodox Jewish day school together? Happy Pesach!

At my request, “Anthony” and the “Madame”s as I took to calling them, were guesstimating percentages of their clientele, and their motives. It seemed that around 20% felt this was a “bucket list” kind of experience, albeit an expensive one. Prices are $550 per hour, $750 for threesomes, depending on the day of the week, but no male escort will do anything sexual with another male- as Anthony says, “I’m not cock phobic, but I don’t want one in my mouth.”

40% of the women who contact the agency are busy professionals who don’t have time to source for sexual partners- they are at work and don’t want to waste time with the “BS” of online dating, as Anthony quaintly put it. 20% of these are repeat customers, with a further 8-10% of those wanting to come back and try a chocolate sampler of each escort on the books, as opposed to one repeat “Boyfriend Experience.”

The crew felt that at least 20% of women had been through a negative, abusive, or heartbreaking experience and needed to push themselves to get out there and date again. I said that having dated Australian men I completely understood a Post Traumatic Stress reaction, though I was being facetious. It turns out at this time NONE of the escorts at the agency are Australian- all are English, Irish or other Europeans. The women admitted that they had trouble attracting Australian men for this sort of work. (To my Aussie male readers: I’m just relating the facts, the stereotype is yours for the breaking…)

I asked Anthony how he gets it up for clients that are not conventionally attractive and his answer made me swoon.
“I love sex and I love women, I’ve always liked being around women more and I understand them. For me it’s about getting off on figuring out their pleasure or what makes them tick.”

Hmmm, stick him on a Qantas flight and have him brought to my tent.

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The Fuck Rampage Is Over

You were all
Using me
And maybe I you,
But I changed my mind
About being used.
I was looking for something
That doesn’t exist
It comes in a package
The wrong size
And none of you Lotharios
Have ever encountered it.
Oh sure
You’ll change for the right girl
But I am
The wrong girl.
I am too much
And you are too little
No one can reach
Into a heart and heal the hurt
Crueler are those who pretend to try.
I have nothing
To share
That you deserve,
Just infinite resentment at others
For things that are my own fault.
Thanks for getting me out of the marriage
For showing me how sex could be
Before the offer expired…

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Am I A Sex Addict?

I remember the olden days when finding someone to have sex with was less like online shopping and more like a crapshoot. You had to put on make up to go to the store in case you ran into “the one” and he didn’t recognize you under the bad hair and the fuzzy pants. You had to pretend to enjoy bands you didn’t like because your friends were going, and because you might meet someone “cute.” When I was a lot younger, but just as horny, I would dress my enviably skinny frame in whatever I felt like without worrying about bulges, or wrinkles or whether my knees would hurt in heels. Then I would drink, or take whatever was on offer, not because I needed anything to lower my already perilously low inhibitions, but to drown out the shame I felt about not having any to begin with.

I seem to have come to terms with my exhibitionist tendencies, as well as my slutty ones. I have dated more than one photographer (usually voyeurs) and made somewhat of a career in stand-up comedy, mainly because I want to be “seen.” And yet, how many people really “see” us in a lifetime? How many people can reflect you without placing you in a box of their own invention, or a way to get what they want? If you’re lucky you had a parent who gave you this kind of unconditional acceptance. For everyone else, there’s Tinder.

Tinder is the app to find people around you to “meet.” Swipe left for no, swipe right for yes, solely on the basis of a photo and a couple word bio, usually referring to the guy’s height; another superficial criteria but apparently important to women, even though we are all the same height when horizontal. It is the most bizarre experience to shop for people, the way you might shop for shoes. “Nope, wrong size.” “Hmmm little timeworn for me.” “That’s nice, but do you have anything a little darker?” Continue reading

When MILF Doesn’t Feel MILFy

Believe it or not, sometimes I don’t feel like the sex-empowered vixen I portray on this blog. In fact, despite the fact that as a separated parent with a fair amount of personal time, often I still feel like this.
I dream of escaping to another country, or at least a parallel universe, where I don’t have children, or a mental illness, and can frolic amongst other sex maniacs (in this universe STD’s don’t exist.) Let’s face it, most days the only time I’m happy is when I’m coming.

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PMS Equals Parenting Minus Sex

The week before my period is a great time creatively. I have lots of brilliant ideas and even remember some of them. I can re-organize a closet or decorate a bedroom. I can do anything as long as it doesn’t involve hardware, as I’m likely to bang my finger with a hammer, knock my head against cupboard doors and drop anything made of glass. Also, not too good at parenting. Anything involving the care and feeding of small children… not optimal. The reason why it’s a great time for both creativity and orgasms, and a bad time for parenting is one and the same- I am way too sensitive.

For someone liable to burst into tears at a cat video, I am remarkably insensitive towards other humans from Day 23 through Day 27. I favor phrases like “Shut-up!” “The fuck I will,” and “Mommy needs to lie down before something bad happens to you.” I am mean, intolerant and impatient- all the things I expect other people not to be. I think they call that a Vitamin B deficiency. I call it acting like a cunt.

When I am in a relationship and I have PMS I am intermittently bitchy and clingy, sometimes at the same time. I want to be cuddled, held and touched, but only with the exact amount of pressure and duration. Nothing more heartwarming than being hugged and criticized. If you leave the room, I will feel abandoned. If you mention I seem cranky, I will throw something at you. If you are breathing, you will not win. It’s a wonder my ex-husband managed to stay married to me for as long as he did. Continue reading

I Have A Bourgeois Ass

I love anal sex. In theory. I like talking about it, watching it and having it, but when it comes to the latter, the mind is willing, but the flesh can be weak. I know I come off as some kind of sexual dynamo, capable of all kinds of naughty, but the truth is that this particular part of my love life has been a little… um, shitty.

The first guy I ever had anal sex with was my husband at the time and it was awesome! I read a bunch of books, researched websites and invested in lube. We had a blast, but didn’t do it that often because… I don’t know, we got busy? You know, kids and their never ending permission slips to sign…

Now that my life is not too busy for anal, I’ve found I have another problem. For some reason, the muscles in my sphincter are directly proportionate to the level of commitment I feel from someone. At the start of a certain recent relationship, I was all up in the anal stuff, and it was amazing… He was gentle about it, then rougher when I could handle it, but not before I could handle it. He also had a gigantic penis, so taking him was quite a feat I was proud of. I guess some people are proud of being good at math, but at this point I take my victories where I can get them.

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