My First Time With a Male Prostitute.

In defense of transactional sex, not that it needs defending.

I consider myself a gorgeous woman. If I so desired, finding a willing sex partner will not be a challenge. However, I am opting for paid professional escorts instead of one night stands. I have very high expectations when it comes to men. Intellectual stimulation is at the top of my list. I live in an intellectual desert. My chances of meeting sexually attractive intelligent men are just as rare as Helley’s Comet.

Most men are selfish during casual encounters. They think sex begins with penetration and ends when they ejaculate. A casual encounter that doesn’t leave me sexually satisfied is extortion. My reward for consenting to your objectification of me should be my pleasure. I don’t like to feel cheated.

My first time with a male prostitute.

I’ve always wondered what it felt like to sleep with someone you paid for sex. Will primal urges overwhelm them that they forget that the experience is about my pleasure? Is it possible to have lousy sex even though I paid? If I am unsatisfied with the service, can I ask for a refund? These and many more were the questions I had on my mind.

I sat down at the edge of my bed, sipping wine and browsing through some very obscure escort sites my friend recommended, trying to find a suitable employee for my weekend of debauchery.

Profile after profile, I looked through. I inspected dick size, length, girth, abs, facial structure, nose size (lol). I studied each profile like my life depended on it (well, not my life, but my satisfaction did). I know it’s not possible to determine sexual compatibility by looking through photos and profiles. This sexual experience is a transaction, and I am determined to find the best fish in this sea of escort.

No one goes to the supermarket to buy the ugliest bananas. You choose the best one.

Oh shit! Why do I feel the need to prove that I am not inadequate? I just want to pay for sex. Why do I feel this urgent need to explain myself? Is it the patriarchy? Do I blame heteronormative societal conditioning? Oh! Maybe it’s my childhood. After all, it’s 2019. There’s enough blame to go round. Thirty minutes of internal warfare, I finally come up with a script for my introduction/interview.

I spent my free time during the week interviewing potential companions. It was a daunting experience; my meticulousness made the process just as tricky as finding a Nigerian man that doesn’t cheat. By the end of the week, I settled for David. I took care of all the logistics and started my mental countdown. TGIF bitches!!!

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough; it was like the universe conspired to slow down time. I spent the whole week fantasizing about the entire experience. All I had was the mental picture of his dick, his abs, and his voice. For me that’s good enough material for the whole week, I am very low maintenance like that.

I was significantly happier during the week; even the usual stress of work could not get me down. I was looking forward to the weekend.

I checked into the hotel early; it was just 4 pm. I needed to get settled mentally. This experience was my first foray into transactional sex. One hour later, I’m overthinking. I start to get cold feet.

I do my best to remind myself its just a transaction.

You are the boss here. I mumbled to myself as I tried to downplay the situation.

How do I normalize this?

In warfare between societal conditioning and openmindedness, who wins?

The sound of my phone ringing jolted me back to reality. It was David calling to inform me of his arrival. I am on my way to your room, he said. I sat there in my robe, waiting for the doorbell to ring. I was somewhere between the middle of anxious and aroused. Where is a glass of wine when you need one.

I heard the doorbell, I opened the door David was standing there, he stared at me for too long. I could see the shock in his eyes. I wasn’t what he was expecting. You are not my usual clientele, he said almost suspiciously. Are you sure I shouldn’t be the one paying? He said, with a smile that showed a beautiful dentition. He was better than I imagined. Tall, handsome, muscular, beards that connect and glowing skin.

He was my type physically. Intellectually, I couldn’t tell. It doesn’t matter; my brain is not the part that needs stimulating tonight.

We barely exchanged six sentences in total — It was basic pleasantries. I like my men silent. Tonight your mouth is for pleasure, not a conversation. Take off your clothes; I said as I disrobed and walked towards the bed.

I laid on the bed, legs apart. David crawled between my legs and put his head between my thighs. He was very skilled with his tongue, and he knew all the right places to put them. You smell amazing, and you taste great, he said. He sucked my labia and clit and occasionally used his tongue in random motions.

If it takes 10,000 hours to become world-class in any field, does this mean that this handsome professional between my thighs has gone through 10,000 hours of cunnilingus to become so skilled? These were my thoughts before a wave of convulsive orgasm hit my brain.

If I were an economist, I would already consider this experience excellent value for money. It’s barely 45 minutes in, and I’ve lost count of the number of orgasms I had. I rarely use words; guttural noises are how I express delight during sex.

I collapsed unto the bed, ass slightly tilted upward to indicate that I was ready to be penetrated. Without hesitation, he slid his cock into my pussy.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good. I mumbled”

He took it easy at first, slow strokes. I wanted none of that. Give it to me harder, I said.

Two hours later, we’ve gone through every position we could come up with, short of swinging from the chandelier. I was exhausted, sore and high on every possible neurotransmitter the brain releases during sex.

As I laid down quietly on the bed trying to regain my composure, I wondered if I could muster up the strength to go another round of this. The answer was No. Only four hours had gone by, and I felt like I had made good returns on my investment.

Thank you, David. It was nice doing business you, I said as I handed him an envelope containing his balance.

David changed the way I look at transactional sex. I think of it the way I think about paying for any other service that makes me happy.

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