The story of how one British school teacher with money troubles started over as a mature escort, re-discovered her sexuality, and unexpectedly fell in love—spoiler, Fifty Shades of Grey is involved :)
I used to be a school teacher in London. I did it for almost two decades in some of the toughest areas of the city. It was challenging and fulfilling work, but every month I struggled to pay the mortgage, the bills and to put food on the table. I married another teacher at the age of 36 and had two wonderful children, but eventually we tragically fell out of love. Circumstances being what they are, we still live together as a family, but my husband and I have gone our separate ways emotionally. It was during my second pregnancy that my husband stopped touching me.
Five years ago three things happened to me. I picked up that ‘masterpiece’ by E L James and read it in one sitting by the light of a torch in our garden. I know, I know—the book is appallingly written, cheesy, and sort of dreadful, but it focused my mind on sex again. I had almost forgotten what a pleasure it was.
The night after I read the book, I went to the mirror and looked at myself for the first time in years, and saw a frumpy woman with too much weight on her wearing dull clothes with her straggly hair thoughtlessly tied in a ponytail. The next day I started my wonder diet, which was basically a determined plan to eat less and stop drinking white wine. The weight came off and, in a few months, I went back to the same mirror and saw a well dressed, youthful woman looking back at me. Then I met a man who was the first to touch me with passion in years. Although it was a short-lived relationship, he made me believe in myself again. And then I decided that life is too short to live in misery, so I put up an ad on the internet and transformed myself into a mature escort.
Most women have a rape fantasy. I must have a different set of chromosomes, because I always had an escort or courtesan fantasy. I wanted to be the woman men willingly and eagerly paid to be with. I’d never known anyone who has worked as an escort and, to this day, still don’t. My decision to be an escort was completely my own, and entered the business as a total amateur. I did this with both my husband’s and my mother’s knowledge. It was something my husband actually encouraged, because he knew I would bring more money into the household. I knew I would be a success because I enjoy sex in all its permutations, and men can sense that. In fact, the men who see me once always come back, often making a return appointment before they leave. At this point, it’s very difficult to fit in a new client as my schedule is taken up a week or so in advance.
Escorting is not as glamorous as one would think and it’s certainly not as horrible as some imagine. In reality, I am just an upscale prostitute, albeit a few years older than most of the women in the business. I work out of a flat in London as an independent escort. Over the years my clientele has grown to the point where I see four or five regulars a day and maybe one curious newcomer, if I can fit him in. I make about £700 a day, which is more than I made as a teacher in a week. The sex doesn’t fit the stereotype that many people imagine. It can be average and it can be mind blowing. I don’t do this work just to make money; I honestly enjoy giving physical pleasure and receiving pleasure in return.
The one stereotype about being an escort that does ring true is that virtually all my clients are married and cheating on their wives. That was true for my first two years as an escort, up until one day three years ago when something truly magical happened: an American man named Jeff walked in the door and gave me the honor of being the first woman to touch him erotically since his wife passed away a number of years previously. He came to see me because he wanted a physical relationship with no emotional ties. That’s not how it worked out at all.
I don’t know how to adequately describe Jeff. He is six years younger than me, five times brighter and the sort of man that make women gasp when he walks in a room. He is not tremendously wealthy but he is very well off, and his success comes from his creativity and his wonderfully complex mind. I didn’t fall in love with Jeff at first, but he fell for me the moment we were first together. It didn’t take long for me to follow suit. The first time he saw me we just talked for three hours straight, touching each other. It was our third appointment when he gave himself to me fully. Jeff is the sort of man that takes pleasure in giving pleasure and our physical relationship is off the scale. Although this may sound like mystical rubbish, right at the start, Jeff felt it was if he was destined to be with me. I knew from the beginning that I was the one chosen to heal his heart.
Jeff is not conflicted about what I do for a living. In fact he finds it tremendously erotic and, to this day, he generously pays for his time with me, always in an envelope with a nice card. He also showers me with gifts, takes me shopping, and we go on holiday together. I spend two or three nights a week at his flat and have met his children and his friends, all of whom, up until recently, were completely unaware of how I make my living. We have been seeing each other for three years and he has remained faithful to me. As hypocritical as it sounds, it would break my heart if he slept with another woman.
When we are out together with his friends, both male and female, I have always been aware of the barely concealed envy the women in the room have about me. Here I am a few years older than Jeff, of dubious origins and I’ve snatched away their prize. There has always been a lot of curiosity about me. The fact that I am still married but obviously in love with another man who dotes on me has brought out the green monster of jealousy in many of the women, particularly those who were friends with his late wife.
What Jeff and I knew would inevitably happen has now come to pass. In the last few days I have been getting phone calls through the number I work through from women I vaguely know through Jeff. They have become increasingly nasty and vitriolic. They claim that my relationship with Jeff has stopped him remarrying and finding happiness, and they have called me all sorts of derogatory names. I’m not sure how they discovered what I do for a living, but realistically it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. These women could have heard through a friend who is possibly my client, or just trolled the internet until they saw an image that fit.
The fact that I am now ‘outed’ doesn’t bother Jeff in the least. I admire that in him so much, and it makes me love him more. I know that Jeff would propose to me at the drop of a hat if I hinted to him that I wanted us to be married. He would love to know that we will be together for the rest of our lives.
As unusual as our relationship is, it works. I don’t want to disrupt my children’s lives. They are happy with the arrangement between my husband and me. They have never met Jeff but they have heard about him. I know his children and their nanny, although they have no idea what I do for a living, but they are aware I am married. I tuck them in at night when I am over and, in many ways, I feel that they are now my children, too.
I can’t speak for other sex workers, but what I can say is that sex workers are people in varying circumstances who need to feel loved, too. I entered the sex trade willingly and enthusiastically, like I think a lot of other women do. Oh and by the way, I actually have orgasms with the men who see me ;)