Thursday, January 21, 2021

Why I Started Having Sex With Men for Money

Conrad was a new client. An African-American man in his thirties, he was slightly heavyset, shorter than I was, and had a sweet smile.

I directed him to lie back on the bed. Straddling him, I slid just the tip of his penis inside of me.

That was all we had agreed on — that he could only insert the tip.

I was horny and really wanted to have sex with him, but I was afraid of what that would say about me.

If I put his penis all the way inside me it would mean I was a bad person. It would mean I was a bad mom. It would mean I was a worthless whore.

My vagina was dripping wet though. It quivered with arousal around the tip of Conrad’s glans head. It felt so good to have him inside me.

Why was I holding back? Because I was afraid of crossing some imaginary boundary?

I hadn’t made the rule that when a woman receives money in exchange for sexual pleasure, this means she becomes worthless.

It’s a ridiculous rule, so why was I still following it?

That was the day I decided to make my own rules about what I could do with my body. I sat down all the way on Conrad’s penis and bucked my hips until we both climaxed.

And I never looked back.

I didn’t always feel this confident about my choice to do sex work though. It took me a long time to change my outlook.

First, I had to deal with my own self-judgment. I had to come to believe I had the right to sexual pleasure while getting paid for it.

This is the story of not only why I started selling sex to men but how I got over my internalized shame about it.

I didn’t believe a “nice” girl like me was allowed to work in the sex industry.

I began working in the sex industry because I didn’t want to follow a traditional path in life. I didn’t want a corporate job like my dad had. I had no desire to spend my life stuck inside a cubicle. I wanted to pursue something creative.

But what?

I wanted a job that gave me the freedom to find out. Therefore, I also needed a way to earn the most amount of money in the least amount of time.

A job as a dominatrix provided the answer.

After college, while trying to find a job that gave me the freedom to follow my creative dreams, I met a few dommes and was fascinated by the stories these women told. They spoke of making a lot of money in very little time, as well as about how creative they got to be doing it.

They got to do things like learn the art of Shibari bondage or the florentine flogging style or different sensual torture techniques. I became even more enthralled with the idea of working as a dominatrix when one of them told me they’d help me become one.

Sure, I was definitely attracted to the job, but something still held me back. I was a “nice” girl from the suburbs. I wasn’t “allowed” to work in the sex industry, was I?

I judged myself for working as a domme.

I was finally able to rationalize doing domme work because I told myself it wasn’t prostitution. Domming wasn’t really working in the sex industry because I didn’t have to sleep with my clients.

Still, I felt like I was stretching my personal boundaries. Sure, I liked parts of the job, but I still felt guilty about doing it.

My vanilla friends didn’t make it any easier for me. I thought they’d understand my newfound career choice. So many of them were creatives, too.

They didn’t understand though. They judged me for working as a domme.

That, combined with my own internalized hang-ups about sex work finally got to me.

It’s funny — people always think that working in the sex industry is what makes women depressed. For me, what brought me down was the way outsiders reacted to my job.

I felt so misunderstood. What’s was worse, I began to judge myself.

Who would love me now? I was a “bad girl.”

After about a year of working full-time as a dominatrix, I’d finally had enough. I decided to leave the industry and made a complete 180-degree turn with my life.

I married a man from a conservative family, just like the one I’d grown up in.

You can already guess how that ended, right?

I tried to live the suburban life.

No one can say I didn’t try to be a conventional woman. I became a mother, buying into the dream that an “honest life” would make me happy.

My conservative husband forgave me for my “sordid” past and moved us to the suburbs. We bought a house in the kind of neighborhood I’d grown up in. Our first few years of marriage were happy.

We enrolled our children in a good school, and I tried to fit in with the other moms. We had nothing in common though. I had this big secret I couldn’t tell anyone.

I made the mistake of telling a few people. As you can imagine, they were shocked. I felt humiliated, angry at myself for ever being honest.

That’s when I started feeling depressed again.

I love my children, but because of them I felt like I couldn’t leave my marriage. I was stuck in the suburbs in a life that made me miserable.

I felt like a bird trapped in a cage, my wings clipped. I needed to be out traveling and being creative, but I was married to this conservative guy.

We grew apart. I no longer had interest in being sexual with my husband. I wasn’t interested in sex at all.

My body became this thing I used to get me from point A to point B. It was as if I went into hibernation as a woman.

I returned to domming after my divorce with a new outlook.

As you can imagine, I finally broke. I couldn’t stand my life anymore. I left my husband.

I felt like a butterfly breaking out from her chrysalis. I felt reborn. My sex drive returned, stronger than ever. Suddenly, I was insatiable for sex.

I tried to date traditionally but it seemed like every man I met was either divorced with kids and wanted to get re-married immediately, or he’d never been married and didn’t have kids so it wasn’t realistic for us to date.

At the end of the day, I wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship anyway. But I was still starved for sex.

More I was suffering from skin hunger. I was desperate to be touched. I needed affection, attention.

I also needed money.

I finally decided to return to sex work as a dominatrix. This time, though, I had a whole new perspective on the job.

I’d tried to live a conventional life and it hadn’t worked for me. Now I knew what I wanted, so I was better equipped to push back against anyone who tried to judge me.

I no longer cared what other people thought about me. I knew how unhappy I’d been trying to live a life that wasn’t right for me.

I finally understood that satisfying my own needs was more important than trying to fit in with everyone else.

Domming wasn’t satisfying my need for sex.

I had a problem though. I was still famished for sex. I kept getting turned on during my domination sessions, but I was left feeling sexually frustrated.

Dommes aren’t supposed to have sex with their submissives. Here I was, having my toes sucked, my ass massaged, and my body kissed. I was being constantly teased. I’d get all riled up from my sessions but I wasn’t getting off.

I was just exhausting myself doing heavy bondage and corporal training, holding keys for men who were in chastity.

I just wanted to get fucked.

One day, I was in session with a new submissive. He was worshiping my stockings, kissing up and down my legs, and massaging my feet. He was really turning me on. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I started masturbating, and he asked if he could pay me more money to kiss his testicles.

Hell yes.

I didn’t just kiss his balls — I sucked his dick. And I loved it.

But still, I held off from advertising as a full-service escort. I kept telling myself that I couldn’t go through it.

I’ll never forget the day I met Conrad. He’d booked a session with me as a dominatrix, but was actually looking for sex.

Here he was, this sweet, quirky guy. Here I was, desperate for sex.

Why not just have it with him? Still, I played a game with myself. I told him he could penetrate me but only with the tip of his penis. That way we wouldn’t really be having sex.

As you already know, I ultimately threw caution to the wind.

I’m so glad I did.

I no longer believe selling sex is wrong.

After this, I started freely selling sex to men. I got over the idea that I was somehow a bad person because of it.

I stopped criticizing myself for participating in activities that were enjoyable to me, but just happened to be socially unacceptable.

That’s all working as an escort is — a socially misunderstood job. I don’t agree that sleeping with my clients is morally wrong. I think it’s wrong that society believes it’s so bad.

I derive pleasure from the sex I have for money. I also like the freedom escorting gives me.

I love that I get to be as creative as I want and have the free time to explore other artistic endeavors.

I wish people could just understand that some women get off on this kind of work. Luckily, I finally feel free to do what I want with my life.

But I only got to this point after years of living according to what other people wanted for me. At least I no longer expect everyone to approve of my lifestyle choices.

I finally understand that what I want out of life is the only thing that matters. I’ve finally accepted that I’m not like everyone else. I’ve finally embraced that I’m just me.

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