I'm Addicted
I did not expect to be writing my story on a site like this. Fuck, I used to think I would make a good writer of erotic fiction. Instead I've ended up a sex worker. Now, there's nothing wrong with sex work if it's your choice and you have a healthy mindset. If it's to pay someone else's bills or your dealer's then I couldn't support it.
Well, I got into it and now I can't get out. I enjoy it too much, it's like the fantasy life I always wanted but I live it as a whore. Wealthy men, nice clothes, trips, g*fts, money, and sex. Lots of sex.
You'd think I was the hottest woman around. You'd be wrong. I'm not. I am nice looking. I have a nice body and I have sex appeal but every day women walk down the street who blow me away. But I get paid $2000 and hour for sex and they don't. They could too. i know many who do and have had sex with quite a few of them to entertain different men but they don't know their sexual worth. That's not a dig, I don't recommend the life to anyone. I don't think most could handle it.
My husband lost his career when Covid started. He jump started our life on the other side of the world. He lived with others just like him, worked insane hours, paid his bills, kept enough to eat and sent the rest home. It wasn't nearly enough. We hoped to make it coming out the other end. We didn't.
Stretch a dollar, save where you can, sell our stuff just save the house. Heard it over and over. One night during an especially difficult conversation he said, "maybe you should suck some dick just to get by." It wasn't a joke.
Weeks of arguments and he said it again. "Why not, it's just sex and it's just to survive." He sent me links to research, information, blogs to read. Within a week I knew more about sex work than I ever could have imagined.
I dived in without telling him. I said fuck it, maxed out the last of my credit cards on lingerie and a modest high class wardrobe, and went on twitter. I followed advise I had read and created a web site that I liked too. Posted my pics, my prices (audacity being the rule) chatting it up, and hey a contact. A guy was more than willing to pay me my rate to visit him for an hour at his hotel.
Wealthy guy, married, in town of business, looking for a certain type of girl. Me. I was his type. I was nervous. So nervous. I was afraid too. Those are two different things if you're a woman. I went to his room, was invited in and an older man welcomed me. He was just shy of 70 and beyond caring. We shared wine, talked and three hours later I left with a lot of money and a new perspective on sex with men I never would have even glanced at before.
I was done. One was enough right. Except. Except other men contacted me. Men who wanted to me with me and pay me to be with them. A few more guys, lots more money and it became hey just a few more, build up the bank account, pay off some credit cards.
Credit card debt really builds up fast when you're broke. So does cash when men are willing to pay you for sex. I could have stopped. I could have survived. Maybe. But, entering this life, part of my education was financial. I met women on-line who knew their stuff both sexual and financial. This is a business for them. They use sex to make money that then then use to make money.
There was money to be made, erasing our debt was no longer a question if was fuck or walk and I fucked. Here it is, my mom, whom I told everything, moved in with us for the duration of the crisis and was there for our children while I made money.
Overnights led to trips. Piece of advice, if a man wants you to spend the night, dinner at a Michelin rated restaurant first is a requirement. Tiem spent getting to know the man, his life, his needs, his wants, letting other men see you with him, while eating the finest food is mandatory. Push it. Be worthy. Sell yourself hard. No trips until he's spent at least 50 K on you.
My first trip was Paris. My mom was terrified I'd be trafficked to the Middle East. I was wined and dined. I shopped. I saw the Seine. I was feted and pampered. Eight amazing days. Finest of everything. When I returned home my kids were excited to see me, my mom was beyond relieved, my credit cards were paid off and a tenth of my mortgage principal was paid off. Our equity line of credit was paid down to zero and I had an amazing new wardrobe waiting for me. My husband wasn't there and he hadn't entered my mind the entire time I was away. The thing is, I had sex four times on that trip with a guy who was tender and caring and true be told very good in bed and a pure joy to spend time with.
My husband is still working very hard very far away. We will be debt free very soon. My mom has suggested I stop once the house is paid for and go back to being a struggling wife and let my husband and I work to make ends meet the old-fashioned way. My mom stays with me while I work a regular job and we survive until things shake out.
It sounds good, it really does. Put it behind me, no one ever knows, it's a memory I don't share with my husband who thinks my mom has been helping us financially. Seriously though, how do I explain being free and clear? I can't. I might as well continue and start building up a deep savings account and investing some money for the future.
I don't know when he's going to be able to get completely back on track. It would be poor business to just throw away an opportunity for financial security that's not going to be here for much longer. I will probably have to start going on tour to keep this thing going which may be what ends it.
The bigger problem is I love it. I love the attention, the money, the men. I love the adventure of it. It's like living someone else's life and it's making me a far more capable person. When it ends I can' go back to being a back burner house-wife. Hubby better be ready for the new me.
So in closing, if you see a nice looking married mom out and about with an air of confidence and out of place sexuality, it may be me! PS don't say hello.
