The Cop listened carefully to my story of a client turned vindictive stalker and nodded and made eye contact appropriately. When I was done he said, “Sorry, we can’t help you”.
Well that was not really a surprise, what came next though was; “So, I’ve never met a male escort before. How do you even get into that job?”
He was fit to burst with the curiosity. Well, the short answer was I needed the money. The GFC put an end to my small IT business in 2008, so I fell back on something that I had done out of curiosity nearly ten years earlier.
There are no drugs, no coercion, no abuse, or broken home. I hold a degree in design; I had a good education, and have a happy life. Sorry rescue industry, I – like so many others – actually chose to be a sex worker. Not one of your stereotypically damaged individuals who you think they need saving from themselves. The Cop was suitably amazed and I left him to his shift.
Another day, and it feels, almost like a different life. In the morning I visit the specialist spinal surgeon who tells me that surgery on my lower back is unlikely to improve my situation. The best thing I can do is to continue exercise to strengthen my core and keep taking the anti-inflammatory medication.
Such is life.
I spend a few hours mulling over what he said, reading up on Scheuermanns disease and generally contemplating how hard it is to get a straight answer, or almost any answer, out of a specialist.
Later I see a client, a young woman with Cerebral Palsy. She is a regular, coming to see me when her money allows. Her mother brings her to my apartment, as she is effectively quadriplegic and non-verbal. We plan her dates via email and text message a few days prior to her coming to see me. When we are together she communicates with me by eye movement. Left for yes, right for no. Today I figure out how to let her give me a hand job.
It’s all about improvisation when working with someone with a disability – how to make sex good and fun for them, because they can’t do the things that you and I take for granted, so it’s almost entirely up to me. I charge her half my normal rate, because her life’s tough enough. Working with disabled clients is the hardest thing I do in my job. But it’s rewarding too.
Jump forward again and it’s the weekend. The week has been moderately busy, three clients over five days. Today is a big day though. I am seeing a regular client who likes to take a ride on my motorcycle in the afternoon before our date. She arrives at about 1pm, we have a cup of tea and a chat, then pull on leathers, boots, and helmets. She recently got her license and a bike, so she has her own gear today.
We spend half an hour dodging through Sydney traffic, then we are out into countryside, the green and grey of the bush, winding roads, blasting past slow traffic when the centre line is dotted. I’m always more conservative with a passenger on bike and ride safer, but it’s still a thrill to let the bike run for a moment when you hit open road. Then winding down through the switchbacks to the river and Wisemans Ferry, a small town beside a muddy brown river that’s baking in the heat.
Lunch at a cafe is adequate and we talk comfortably as we always do. She is a nice person; intelligent, genuine, open, lovely.
The run back home is just as pleasant as the trip down, even the traffic plays ball and we don’t get blocked, every car ahead seems to come just when we can overtake, and there’s this feeling of the world just sliding by, making a show just for us.
We get home, hot and sweaty and have a shower. The sex is great. It always is with her; passionate, intense, uninhibited. We rest for a while, then I make dinner and we watch a movie lying on the couch together. It’s a moment of peace.
We go to bed after the movie, have sex again. She has an orgasm that seems to last forever, it just goes on and on. Afterward, we are both spent and crash into sleep.
In the morning, we wake up to the quiet of Sunday. No noise from the construction site next door, or maintenance men mowing grass. It’s peaceful. We have that “half asleep still” sex that is slow and gentle, and totally unselfconscious. We sleep a bit more, and then get up for breakfast; tea, scrambled eggs with bacon and toast. We talk more as the date winds down. Eventually it’s time for her to shower, then head off and meet friends.
After, I have a shower, strip the bed, and put some washing on. I lie on the couch and watch television, catch up on Twitter, answer the texts and emails that have backed up on my phone since yesterday. People like a prompt response.
There’s another inquiry from a woman who has never had sex and wants to lose her virginity with me. It’s become a “thing” for me this year. Normally I would get perhaps half a dozen virgins contact me in a year. I have had ten so far this year and it’s only mid March.
Tuesday brings a short notice booking from a couple that has recently started seeing me. She is younger; he is older (and not able to keep up so well as he once could). I am their weekly answer. She has gorgeous soft dark skin, and it is a real pleasure to massage her, noticing her growing arousal. Sex with her never lasts very long, but always results in an intense orgasm for both of us – hers is by far the most dramatic that I have ever encountered. All of this while her husband watched on. After she has recovered I watch them have sex, I’m relaxed, happy, and by the time he climaxes, I’m ready to go again.
Skip a week and I have a client visiting from out of town. She is staying at a lovely hotel with a great view in the city. I see her both of the nights that she is in Sydney. A professional woman, sweet natured, desperately shy, and concerned about her appearance, she is quite overweight. It really doesn’t matter though; I have never turned a woman down. It’s not about beautiful bodies, it’s about whom you are, about finding your passion, and sharing it.
I give her oral sex and bring her to a strong orgasm. We have sex afterward and sleep like the dead. The next night we go to a beautiful restaurant rather than ordering room service. It’s fun. She is happy; I’m happy. We part the next day early, she has to attend a conference and then go home to her husband. I leave with her declaration that she will contact me and book again when she is next back in town.
I ride my bike home through the mercifully cool air, just for a moment feeling completely free on an empty stretch of road running beside the harbor. The bike flies, racing up through the gears before I let it coast back to a more appropriate speed. I try to memorise the moment, every detail, because it can’t last.
I go for a walk in the afternoon. It’s baking hot and my sciatica is grumbling away. It’s not great and I wish I had gone to the pool instead. Still, I see a beautiful spoonbill wading in the shallows beside the estuary-walking track and stop to take some photos of it.
The weekend includes a shibari rope bondage photo shoot that I have been planning with a friend. We have the use of a beautiful professional dungeon in Sydney and the cooperation of a female friend who looks gorgeous tied up in red silk rope. The shoot is a success and the still photos and time-lapse video provide first piece of content for a new website offering BDSM type services to female clients and couples. It’s not unfamiliar territory to me, but it is a new challenge.
My stalker seems to have finally lost interest in me. The cat-fishing and harassment has stopped. I’m sitting on the couch recounting the highlights of that sorry affair with a long-term client who stopped seeing me a year ago. She’s just a friend now. Sometimes she messages me, or drops in and we have a cup of tea and a chat. Today’s a big day, emotional; she is separating from her husband after many years. We talk for an hour or so, there are some tears and reassurance that life will go on.
I have had plenty of jobs in my life. But nothing like this. It’s hard work. But it’s rewarding work. I earn more than I have ever done at any other job, but equally importantly, I make a difference to the lives of my clients. The emails and text messages of thanks, the testimonials, they all tell me that I am doing something valuable. Providing something that too many people miss out on, or are denied – intimacy, pleasure, passion, compassion, even just a friendly smile an ear to listen, and shoulder to cry on.
*John Oh is a Sydney escort. Visit his webpage here.