I was wrapping up five years of born-againism, and I was relatively horny. I had been studying City Paper (DC) adult ads for some months. I finally called this Russian dame, drove over to her place, and sat down in her candle-lit room. I was burning inside. She gave me a brief massage and then told me to lie down on top of her. (Basically I was Matthew Broderick in that Biloxi movie). My tip barely entered her--oh the sensation I hadn't felt in a long time--and I instantly arrived. It had lasted a fraction of a second. She said, "That was nice." I'm not sure if it really counts as my provider-devirginization.

Two years later, after having returned to the World, and having discovered the internet, I visited the now-retired Samantha Radcliffe (anyone know her?). The weeks of anticipation had been exquisitely painful. Man, did she treat you right. High up in a classy hotel, we came together in a tight, vocal doggie. I walked out into the sunshine and was a changed man, born again as a hobbyist.

For me it was 10 years ago. I had been fantasizing with the newspaper adds for months (maybe years) but had always held back by a lack of courage or opportunity.

One weekend, my family left to visit out of state relatives.  I sat in a chair in my living room, reading the ads in the local free paper, over and over, until I had them almost memorized.  I made up my mind that this was going to be the night.  I finally selected one woman’s name from what must have been an agency or referral service.  I remember the words, “Paloma, exotic Brazilian/French beauty.”  I made the call and arranged for an outcall visit to my home (hey, I was a novice and more worried about walking into a sting than inviting a complete stranger into my home).

I was nervous.  I really didn’t know what to expect.  The scheduled time came.  The doorbell rang.  At my doorstep stood a very pretty girl in her early twenties, in a black cocktail dress, but wrapped with a shocking pink feather boa.  Worried about my neighbors seeing, I quickly invited her in.  I remember that she seemed to glide more than walk.

When I saw her in the light, it was clear that she was neither Brazilian nor French.  “Paloma?” I asked.  “Is that the name they used for me this time?!  They never tell me—or I don’t remember,” she answered with a cute Australian accent.  Knowing what I know now, alarms should have blasted me into consciousness, but I knew no better.

She admired my home.  We talked on the couch for a few minutes.  She was Australian, recently divorced and with a young child. She had made her way to the East from California, with a baby, by bus.  Needing money, she just recently started escorting.  She seemed soft and inwardly strong at the same time.  We awkwardly transacted business.  Then she said, “I have to call my driver, to tell him I’m OK.  He’s waiting outside.”  Bait and switch, sob story about having a baby and being broke, driver--and I didn’t know enough to understand that things were soon likely to go very wrong!

Well, to make a long story short, it was a good thing that I was so ignorant.  As soon as she hung up the phone, she glided over to where I was standing (fumbling with CD’s as I remember),  wrapped the boa around us both, put her arms around my neck, and gave me one of the most electrifying kisses of my life!  We fell to the couch, making out, slowly disrobing.  She was so young and beautiful!  Her body was youthful, showing no signs of the rigors of carrying a child.  Her she was, nude on my lap, on my own couch, in my own living room! In retrospect, she probably didn’t any better know how an escort was expected to act than I did.  She simply rose to the role.

Her breathing became heavy.  She brought her lips to my ear, “I want to please you!” she said in a hoarse whisper.  I don’t know how I didn’t lose it right at that second.  My heart was pounding.  I confessed to a fantasy of having a BJ while sitting in an overstuffed Queen  Anne’s chair in my living room.  She smiled broadly, as if to say, “well that certainly is on the menu!”  I dimmed the lights in the room, settled into the chair, threw a cushion at my feet, and she knelt in front of me.  I can’t remember a thing about her technique.  I do remember her smiling eyes looking up at me as she took me in her mouth.  I remember the surrealness of the scene: the familiar setting of my living room, the beautiful girl between my legs, the ecstasy rising from below.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but when I finally erupted, I recall the triumphant half-surprised look on her face.  It was like she was saying to herself, “Hey, I’m must be getting pretty good at this—maybe this job is going to work out!”

She left at the end of the hour.  “When can you see me, again?” she said before a warm goodbye kiss.  She actually had to come back later because she had left her boa which had fallen behind the couch.  That one would have been hard to explain to the wife!

The same ad continued to run.  A couple of months later, I called and set a date with Paloma.  Of course, a different Paloma showed up.  This experience was much more like what I should have expected.  Slam, bam, “I gotta go.”  Ditto time and again thereafter (before I knew about these boards).  I tried to find her through the agency.  Not knowing her real name, it was hopeless.

However, I had been imprinted.  I continue to this day to seek out such electrifying experiences.  I’ve come pretty close a number of times!


-- Modified on 9/29/2002 6:49:51 AM

-- Modified on 9/29/2002 6:58:56 AM

-- Modified on 9/29/2002 11:09:20 AM

Discounting a brothel experience shortly after getting out of boot camp, my first encounter was about 20yr ago...long before I became a hobbyist.

I worked for a large corporation & was touring a few of my offices with my boss.  We were in San Diego then.  At the end of the day we had dinner & then hit the cocktail lounge of the hotel.  He was a older guy, married, straight-laced, & always about business--never about having fun.  The bar was horseshoe-shaped & there was a quite attactive blonde gal (nicely dressed, but tastefully) sitting alone.  Every time I glanced her way she was looking back.  Somewhere around 11PM my boss decides to turn in & head back to his room.  I wasn't tired to I stayed, even though I wasn't really thinking about hitting on the blonde..at least not too much.  

Within minutes after my boss left the bartender brings me a drink saying it was compliments of the lady.  I accepted, smiled at her, raised my glass, & motioned as if asking if she'd like to join me.  She came over, we talked a while, flirted a bit, & she finally asked something along the lines of "do you like to party?"  On the one hand I knew what she meant, but on the other hand I really didn't as I was naive to the whole escort scene.  I'm actually thing she's probably just a gal bored & looking for some fun.

I take her back to my room where we proceed to 'party' until the sun came up, having a very good time.  There was never any mention of money.  As we're getting cleaned up she tells me she lives in the area, would love to see me again whenever I'm back in town, writes her name & phone number on a piece of paper & hands it to me.  At this point I still have no clue that I've been screwing an escort all night.  She gets dressed & is ready to head for the door when she says, "I get $60."  Geez, I must have looked surprised as hell!!  To top this off, I was accustomed to charging almost everything & carrying only a small amount of cash, some of which I'd spent in the bar.  This was before the days of ATMs & all I had left in my wallet was somewhere between $40-50.  I kind of sheepishly handed that to her teeling her it was all I had on me & hadn't realized she was a 'pro.'  She just smiled, said it was OK & that she'd had a great time so not to worry about it.  Kissed me goodbye as she left, saying she'd love to see me again.  Imagine...5-6hrs of completely GFE for less than $50 & she leaves happy??