sex work

10 Things I Could Do If I Hired a Male Escort

Kate Sloan

I thought a lot about male escorts when I was younger, because the thought of sex with men worried me and I wanted someone to shepherd me through it non-judgmentally. I wanted to be taught tricks and strategies, and to thereby embolden me for future (non-transactional) sexual encounters with men. When young male virgins write to me now to ask for advice on building sexual confidence and “getting into the game,” I’m being very serious when I suggest they see a sex worker – because I strongly considered taking this route myself.

However, I ultimately decided not to, because 1) I didn’t have enough money, 2) I was scared, and 3) I fell in love with a man who was just as patient and kind about my sexual inexperience as I had hoped an escort would be. BUT. Even still today, I think about hiring sex workers every once in a while, as an indulgence if some extra dough ever fell into my lap. Being demisexual, however, I don’t think I would employ them for sex – and some escort agencies explicitly say that their workers don’t even offer sex. So here are 10 other things I might consider doing if I hired a male escort…

1. Massage. Yeah, I should really just hire a masseuse if this is what I’m after, but there is something different about a massage that is allowed to be flirty or even sexy. It has a different energy and I’m able to relax into it in a different way. Sometimes it’s nice to be touched in a way that is sex-adjacent but not explicitly sexual, y’know?

2. Masochism. As a masochistic submissive, I crave pain and subspace almost as often as I crave sex. But unlike pleasure and orgasms, good pain isn’t easy to administer to myself. Outsourcing the task would be better, especially if I found an escort who was experienced in whatever activity I was craving (let’s be honest – probably spanking).

3. Topping practice. Granted, I would imagine submissive male escorts are harder to find than dominant ones (correct me if I’m wrong), but I think some “hired help” could allow me to hone my topping skills, like impact play, face-slapping, and even just dominant dirty talk. It’s less embarrassing to practice on someone who does this stuff all the time than on someone who could literally break up with you if you mess something up.

4. Vacation accomplice. A while ago I was invited on a press trip to an all-inclusive swingers’ resort, and I had to decline, partly because of scheduling issues but also partly because my partner wasn’t available to accompany me and I would’ve been in social anxiety hell if I went alone. It’s a pipe dream that I’d ever have enough cash to splurge on a whole weekend or week of an escort’s time, but in a dream world where I do, they’d be a good date to a getaway.

5. Flirting. So underrated and so important! Sometimes – especially when you’re single and/or lonely – you just need somebody to make you feel wanted and wantable. I could see hiring an escort for a fun dinner-and-drinks date for the express purpose of being flirted with. Mmm, crushy energy.

6. Cuddles. Some studies show human touch is actually necessary for our well-being, and I believe it. It would be nice to hire a professional cuddler in the midst of a particularly lonely dry spell, or to comfort me at the end of a hard day.

7. Wedding guest. Weddings suck if you’re sad about your romantic life. I have definitely cried at them for totally self-absorbed reasons as well as the normal reasons people cry at weddings. I could imagine hiring an escort to be my +1 if my originally-planned date dropped out for some reason (like a breakup) and I didn’t want to go alone.

8. Photos and videos. Provided the escort was okay with it, it might be fun in an artistic-collaboration way if we shot some sexy pictures or clips together, either to sell (with profit-sharing, of course!) or just for personal perusal. Seeing myself from different perspectives is sometimes a good way to boost my self-esteem when I need it, and “entwined in intimate embrace with a hot escort” is certainly a different perspective!

9. Tourism. When you visit a new city, your experience of it is vastly influenced by the person or people who show you around. My Toronto is different from a Bay Street banker’s Toronto or a hippie artist’s Toronto, for example. It would be neat to hire an escort while visiting a new place, and have them lead me around to some of their favorite spots.

10. Learning. I have known enough escorts to know that they have skillsets almost nobody else has. They have to have above-average emotional and social intelligence, in addition to whatever sex and kink skills they may use in their line of work. I find that inspirational and could put similar skills to use in many areas of my life, so it would be cool to get some one-on-one tutelage from a willing escort on these topics.

Would you ever hire an escort for a non-sexual reason?

 

This post was sponsored by the folks at Gentlemen4Hire. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

5 Great Reasons to Hire an Escort

Kate Sloan

I’ve learned a ton from my friends who are Toronto escorts about the power and magic of sex work. Contrary to shitty popular opinions about it being a seedy profession for the desperate and destitute, it’s often empowering and uplifting for both service providers and their clientele. (This, by the way, is part of why it’s so important we fight back against SESTA/FOSTA in any way we can.)

Aside from a session of basic (yet likely mind-blowing) sexual satisfaction, there are lots of reasons it might behoove you to hire an escort. Here are a few of them…

You want group sex, without the drama. When couples write to me inquiring about how to find a “unicorn” (a third person, usually a bisexual woman, to have a threesome with), I usually recommend they save up and hire a sex worker. It’s better to pay someone to play exactly the role you want them to, than to try to slot someone into a pre-decided role they haven’t totally signed up for. Plus, particularly in first-time forays into non-monogamy, group sex can incite lots of feelings, like jealousy and insecurity; hiring a professional can help you keep things simple.

You want to try a new kink, without judgment. It can be scary to raise nascent sexual interests with a romantic partner, or even a FWB; you might worry they’ll think differently of you once they find out what you’re into. Even if your newfound curiosity focuses on something relatively culturally accepted, like spanking or facesitting, you might still feel shy bringing it up. That’s totally okay, and it’s one area where sex workers can be a huge help: making fantasies come true is literally their job, and it’s practically guaranteed they’ve heard weirder requests than the one you’ve got up your sleeve. (You should, however, let SWs know beforehand about the fantasy you’re hoping to have fulfilled, so they know what they’re getting into and have a chance to decline if they want to.)

You want to lose your virginity, shame-free. I remember when I was a meek 18-year-old who’d never gotten intimate with a penis before; it seemed to me like the scariest thing in the world, and yet I wanted to give it a shot. I fantasized often about hiring a cis male sex worker to guide me through my first “straight” experience. An escort, I figured, would be professional and non-judgmental, and would happily teach me some dick tricks if that’s what I wanted. Similarly, if you’ve never had sex and it’s starting to get you down, I would really recommend hiring a sex worker. They won’t be able to teach you everything in just one session, but the experience could give you a boost of confidence you can take forward into your future sex life.

You’re too tired or busy for the dating game. Some people talk about sexual satisfaction as if it were a basic human right. I’m not sure I agree, but the fact remains that many of us crave sex even when our lives and minds are too chaotic for us to pursue it in societally-sanctioned ways, like dating apps. (When I’m depressed, I’d honestly rather watch paint dry than try to make conversation with some rando from Tinder.) A sex work transaction can be the simplest solution to this problem.

You need a date to an event. Lots of escorts offer special rates to accompany you to concerts, dinners, the theatre, and so on. This could be a lovely option if you’re feeling lonely but still want a fun night out on the town – because, let’s not forget, the services sex workers provide are often just as much emotional as they are sexual. After the event wraps up, you can extend the date to end in sexytimes, if you’ve negotiated that, or not. Bringing a happy, paid professional is probably better than dragging along an unenthused partner who’d rather be at home, anyway!

What are some reasons you’ve hired (or considered hiring) an escort?

 

This post was sponsored by the lovely folks at OhMy. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Sex Sells, Part 3: Being a Sugar Baby

Kate Sloan

This week’s mini blog series on my sex work experiences is coming to an end. For this instalment, I’ve partnered with Rachaels London Escorts to tell you a story I’ve never really opened up about in detail before: that time I was a sugar baby for a little while.

I used to dream of having a sugar daddy who would buy me lingerie and handbags and luxury sex toys. I mean, who hasn’t had some version of this fantasy at one time or another? Though I played around on SeekingArrangement (the best-known “sugar dating” site) and mentally mapped out how I’d spend a generous benefactor’s money, I didn’t think I’d ever actually have a sugar daddy; men with the means and desire for this type of relationship are usually inundated with fit blonde conventional beauties in their early twenties, and I am… none of those things, so it seemed like a long shot.

However, one day in 2017, I got a cordial email from a man whose name I didn’t recognize. He introduced himself, heaped on compliments about my blog and podcast, and asked if I’d be open to a (paid) phone-chat session with him sometime, as the phone “happened to be a favorite play medium” of his. He attached two photos of himself, serious black-and-white formal portraits in which he smouldered at the camera in a suit. I was intrigued.

I was used to charging in 15- or 30-minute increments for such services, so I was surprised when he wanted to book a whole hour. “Please let me know how to render the honorarium and I’ll handle immediately in good faith,” he wrote – music to the ears of someone who so often has to harangue potential clients to finally, reluctantly pay. We agreed on a price and a day and time, and he sent the money promptly, in advance. What a dream.

He opened our first phone call by telling me he planned to approach it as a “first date” of sorts – i.e. he wanted us to chat and get to know each other, hopefully as part of an ongoing connection, not just a one-off phone-sex encounter. That first night, chatting is all we did: he complimented me and my work profusely, told me about his career and interests, and explained his own journey with non-monogamy and kink, which had led him to me. He had a wife, but they both dated and fucked other people with each other’s full knowledge; he, however, preferred to pay dates rather than seek them out organically for free, because he said it simplified the process. He was a highly busy small-business owner and didn’t have the spare time and energy to trawl Tinder or OkCupid, besides which, those sites rarely connected him with the open-minded, kinky, smart women he was seeking. Hence paying me by the hour for a phone date.

We enjoyed our conversation so much that when the hour was up, he asked if I had time to stay for another – with proper compensation, of course. When I said yes, the amount landed in my account almost immediately, and we carried on chatting about our lives. I was amazed that I’d just made the equivalent of 20-30 hours of minimum-wage work for a two-hour phone call that hadn’t even felt like work. He was eloquent and charming and I’d enjoyed our chat. I’d basically been paid to be complimented and flirted with for an evening. Pretty ideal.

I took myself out for a fancy solo dinner the next night, spending some of his money on pasta and cocktails I worked my way through while leisurely reading a book. The decadence made me feel guilty. This wasn’t my life. But maybe it could be.

We continued having these get-to-know-ya phone chats on and off for a few weeks. I learned that he lived in New York, that he had followed me and my work for quite some time, and that some soul-searching on the topic of kink had brought him to the realization that he was a daddy dom. That role spoke to him because he liked guiding the action of scenes and having consensual control over sexual partners, sure, but also because he longed to give guidance, structure, and wisdom outside of the bedroom. I warned him that I wasn’t comfortable calling anyone “daddy” just yet, having recently had my heart broken by my first daddy dom, but I could open myself up to a new dom by another name, perhaps.

We had phone sex for the first time late one night, once he’d established I wanted it, and had (of course) paid for my time. It was long and slow and lovely. I felt guilty taking my time to come as I listened to him spin sentences about giving my clit and labia lots of attention, but he assured me repeatedly that he liked the arousal process, he liked listening to me getting closer and closer to orgasm, and he intended to pay me for any extra time we spent because he wanted to hear me come. He was true to his word.

Sometime after that, he floated an idea he’d been pondering this entire time but hadn’t felt brave enough to bring up yet. He wanted to work out an “arrangement”: he would pay me an agreed-upon monthly allowance so we could talk and text and email organically as our schedules allowed, in lieu of paying by the hour to talk only at certain times. He offered, too, to cover my airfare for all trips I took to and from New York while we were “a thing,” even if I only saw him once during the entire trip. This especially excited me, as my best friend lives there and so did a new person I was flirting with and potentially wanted to date. I’d been wishing I could afford more NYC trips, and now here was a person offering to fly me there once every month or two. How perfect!

The arrangement began; the money flowed in. I bought a Coach handbag and a microwave. I stared at my bank balance sometimes, half-bewildered, half-turned on. I felt better about my financial situation than I have ever felt in my life.

We started planning our first in-person date, slated for mid-December. Pasta, musical theatre, a night in a hotel. I mentioned casually in passing that I’d also be seeing my new beau while there, and I heard my sugar daddy’s voice waver a bit. He told me that, despite having been non-monogamous for years, he still struggled with jealousy occasionally – and this situation triggered it especially, because the other person was “right in [his] own back yard.” I was confused, because he’d known going into this that I had other partners, but I told him I was sure he could work through those feelings and that I could provide some poly-newbie resources if need be.

However, just 10 days before I was scheduled to fly down to see him, he called me and confessed that his jealousy had gotten the better of him. He wanted to “bow out” of our arrangement. He’d thought he could handle me dating another New Yorker, but he couldn’t. I was disappointed – not just because of the money, and not just because it was another rejection in a year that had been full of rejections for me, but also because I had grown genuinely fond of this man. Hearing his supportive voice over the phone had become a comfortingly dependable tradition, and I was sad to lose that. I went over to another partner’s house later that day for a scheduled date and he held me and consoled me and got me high and fucked me well. (Good poly is so good.)

I’m still sad from time to time about the loss of that arrangement. It fulfilled so many of my core desires: to be cared for, and appreciated, and listened to, and pleasured, and spoiled. It topped up my bank account while also topping up my self-worth and my sense of being supported by someone who wanted the best for me.

But there is also joy to be found in making my own money, treating myself to nice things when I can, and developing relationships with people who aren’t threatened by my other potential paramours. I like having people I can depend on, and I also like feeling independent to some extent. This foray into sugar dating taught me more about my ideal balance in between.

 

Thanks to Rachaels London Escorts for sponsoring this post! They’re open from 10AM to 1AM (amazing!) and are available for a range of booking opportunities, such as dates, massages, parties, and naughty nights in hotels.

Sex Sells, Part 2: Camming

Kate Sloan

I log onto Skype. I send a quick “I’m ready when you are!” message to the stranger who paid me a few minutes ago. They call me up, and I put on my best Flirty Face. Maybe my clothes come off; maybe not. Maybe I have an orgasm; maybe not. By the end of the 15- or 30-minute show, my face is flushed – from nerves or pleasure or both – and I’m marginally richer than I was before.

When I partnered with Bubbles London Escorts to create this blog series on my experiences with sex work, I knew I’d have to touch on camming. And truth be told, I was reluctant. I don’t think of myself as a camgirl, not really; I don’t put in the hours upon hours of self-promotion and primping and flirting with silent time-wasters that people who cam for a living have to do. Folks occasionally ask me for advice on “getting into” camming, and I always bashfully tell them: I don’t use cam sites or seek out customers. They come to me, via DM or email, because they’ve enjoyed something I tweeted or read something I wrote or fixated on a selfie I Instagrammed, and they – inexplicably, to my mind – want to see me get lascivious just for them. I like money, and I like feeling desired, so when the opportunity arises, I often say yes.

I don’t cam very often – usually just a handful of times a year. It’s not something I seek out or advertise all that much, because honestly, it makes me anxious as hell. The process of scheduling a show, attiring myself appealingly, and then performing on camera directly conflicts with my insecurities and awkwardness and shyness. It requires a certain brassy confidence that I can convincingly fake for the duration of a show, maybe, on a good day. It’s for these reasons that I decided late last year to stop taking on new cam clients unless they seemed really great and made me feel really comfortable. The money I got from putting on these shows just wasn’t enough to justify how nervous and drained they made me feel.

But while I was doing it more actively, I had some regular customers I adored. There was the breezily confident guy who would tell me to “just do whatever feels good,” and would sit back in his chair, smoking a cigar and not jerking off at all, while I held a vibe on my clit and writhed. There was the sweet dork who only ever wanted to watch me give head to a realistic dildo, and then would chat with me about social justice in comic book universes once he’d come. There was the woman in her first queer relationship who wanted to learn more about how vulvas work from watching me touch mine. (Secretly, she was my fave.)

Camming wasn’t all smooth ‘n’ sexy; there were hijinks and misadventures, too. A client once requested a show while I was staying in a hotel in Italy with my mom, so I had to stake out a corner of our marble bathroom during a lull in the day and center my laptop between my splayed legs. Another client once reached out to schedule an impromptu show just as I was stumbling home drunk from a night out with friends, so the show he eventually got was probably more raucous than mine typically are. Adorably, someone once bought a camshow from me as a gift for her boyfriend, who she said would’ve been too shy to set one up himself.

My favorite cam clients were always the ones who treated me respectfully and gently, knowing I’m a human, not an object. They’d politely inquire mid-show, “Is it okay if I…?” or “Would you mind showing me…?” and I’d usually be happy to oblige. Sometimes I’d even get a reverent thank-you message from them the next day. “I learned so much from talking with you and watching you,” one such message read. “It opened up something in me.” I cried a little, finding it hard to wrap my mind around the idea that someone found the sight of me jerking off to be not only sexy but revelatory.

I haven’t cammed in quite a while. These days, I’d mostly rather lie in bed in my pajamas, talking to my partner on the phone or reading a book or watching Netflix, not caring what I look like. But I’m still grateful to the clients I had, and those I might have in the future. Though camming makes me incredibly nervous, it also – like many other daunting activities – leaves me flushed and grinning with the knowledge that I “felt the fear and did it anyway.”

 

Thanks to Bubbles London Escorts for sponsoring this post! The owner of this agency is very friendly and makes sure all client requests are dealt with promptly.

Sex Sells, Part 1: Selling Nudes

Kate Sloan

I’ve always loved good-lookin’ nudes. When I was a young(er) pervy little thing, I would creep to the family computer in the dead of night and surf SuicideGirls, GodsGirls, and archives of old Bettie Page prints – always taking care to clear my browser history afterward, of course. These women, with their lush curves and hard-femme aesthetics, had something I thought I could achieve someday, once I came of age: the confidence to pose nude on the internet.

Especially in light of the recent SESTA/FOSTA laws which are jeopardizing many sex workers’ livelihoods, I was excited when the folks at Dior London Escorts agreed to sponsor a blog series here on my experiences with sex work (the mild forms of it that I have done), so I would have an opportunity to do some destigmatizing through storytelling. I thought immediately of those formative late nights, scrolling through elegant porn. At one point, my desire to join these naked women’s ranks was so great that I shot some provocative (non-nude) photos of myself on my little digital camera and carefully photoshopped the SuicideGirls logo into the corner of one, just to see what it would look like. My mom later found that illicit jpeg on our computer and told me she hoped I was being careful with my images. I still don’t know whether she thought I’d actually somehow been accepted to model for the site despite being underage.

Those early signs of exhibitionism didn’t really bear out in my adult life. I’ve performed in porn from time to time, with friends behind the camera or on camera with me or both, but it was always more for the goofy fun of the experience than for a sexual desire to show off. When I’ve shared lascivious photos online, it’s typically been out of boredom or the need for an ego boost. Even sending nudes to partners doesn’t really get my rocks off in and of itself; I typically don’t do it unless asked to, because it doesn’t often occur to me, and it’s the other person’s desirous reactions that thrill me and make me feel hot.

And yet… I like selling nudes. There is something powerful and sexy about it. Maybe I have a bit of a money kink; maybe it’s just that strangers buying photos of my body makes me feel somehow more “legitimately” hot than when partners enjoy those same photos, because the strangers don’t even know about my charming personality and still want to jerk off to me. Weird but true.

I don’t recall the first time I sold a nude, but I would imagine the interaction originated in a Twitter DM. Maintaining an active Twitter presence full of sex jokes and snazzy selfies, I attract a fair amount of sexually motivated looky-loos. Sometimes random men slide into my DMs with a simple “Hey” and it turns out they want to see me naked; other times they’re upfront about wanting to buy pictures (guess which approach I prefer?!). On the advice of my friend Bex, a gifted salesman, I’ve started answering every vague DM from a stranger with a concise “What can I help you with?” This sets a businessy tone for our conversation and helps me quickly filter out flirty time-wasters so only actual customers remain.

I always ask interested buyers if there’s anything in particular they want to see. If it’s something fairly basic (say, tits or ass – the classics), typically I already have some great shots on tap that I can send along. If they want something more niche or involved, I set aside some time to shoot what they’re looking for. I don’t even necessarily have to be at home to pull this off; I have fond memories of snapping impromptu nudes for clients in bar bathrooms and a boyfriend’s bed (the boyfriend knew what was up!). I feel like a badass every time I make quick cash just taking pictures of my body, a body that feels utterly ordinary to me because I walk around in it all day every day. What a revelation and a joy that some people like this chubby, flawed body enough to pay for digital glimpses of it, even without knowing anything about me.

The only times selling my nudes has gotten awkward were when the buyer was someone I knew. Either I felt guilty about charging them money (even though they were proactively trying to pay me) or the interaction added a sexual element to a relationship that previously lacked that dimension. But in every case, these people have been cordial and respectful throughout the process. I’ve even said “no” to a few of them and gotten nothing but sweet understanding in return.

I’m always happy to sell nudes, so slide into my Twitter DMs or send me an email if you want to buy some. I love that this exchange is a total win-win: my buyer walks away happy (and hopefully jerkin’ it), and in return I get a fistful of cash and the knowledge that someone, somewhere, thinks my body is beautiful.

 

Thanks to Dior London Escorts for sponsoring this post! They’re one of the most popular escort agencies in London, known for their high-quality service and employing a wide range of women.