Loving Strangers In The Cutthroat Sex Worker Game
By: Vikki Sommers
Tags: Sex, Dating, Relationships, Relationships Love Dating, Couples

I’m not jaded, at least I try not to be. I try to trust people, although a group of sex workers in my home country tricked me into going somewhere far away where I was assured to have clients waiting for me, only to be left out in the cold rain and snow.

I really don’t have a choice; I need people. We all do in this industry. In my year-long struggle writing a raw, brutally honest and ultimately affirming memoir, I’ve met a few people, men mostly, with whom I’ve shared my most intimate secrets. Writing a book meant baring my soul, and it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m an obsessively private person.

I read the manuscript and it was like I was reading about someone else’s picaresque escapades in Europe, the Middle East and Asia. Why “she” ultimately decided to enter the sex trade. In case you’re wondering, no, I wasn’t abused by a drunk, incestuous father or uncle. I grew up in a well-to-do household, not rich, but enough so that I could have anything I wanted. My father worked as an advocate for building morally upright youths and young adults, at the same time trying not to spoil his sexually inquisitive teenage daughter. Father tried to mold me into the kind of teenager other girls emulated. I failed him in that, and miserably so.

I started sex work when I was twenty-one, six months after graduating from a distinguished university in Sweden. This Old-World college first opened in 1366, and is one of Europe’s elite schools.

The truth is that I chose to be a sex worker. I didn’t want a lucrative career in business. I wanted sex, lots of it, with as many men as possible. And I wanted to travel. I’d used the skills I learned in college to be the best I could be and become an elite escort, known throughout Europe and Asia. I’d offer myself only to men of distinction.

Not all escorts are the same. We all do the same work — satisfying a man’s desire to meet and fuck a strange woman, but even more, satisfying his need to talk to someone about problems he carries around with him, problems he can’t discuss with his wife, his lover, not even his mother.

A good escort knows how to satisfy a man, how and where to put her hands, how to use her mouth, legs, boobs and ass, as I do. When that’s over we drift into conversation for the remainder of our “date.” Lying in bed, breathing slowly, looking at the ceiling, he starts to talk.

Man: I don’t seem to have any luck finding a good woman. They don’t know what they want.

Me: What do you mean?

Man: It seems women have become more selective today. Sometimes I feel like opening up and talking about myself, you know, what I like and what scares me, but I’m afraid she’ll be listening for signs of weakness and will move on.

Me: You? Why, you’re so successful, and well off. And you seem to me to be a good man.

Man: I don’t want a woman to be with me because of my money. I want her to like me. Do you like me?

Me: Why, yes, I do. I think you’re wonderful.

Man: Do you mean that?

Me: I do. I mean it (I really meant it, too. He’s gorgeous, sensitive and kind and in another lifetime I would go after him.)

Man: But you —

Me; Can I tell you something? The world changes, we evolve, but some things never change. Women love to laugh, they love to have fun, and want dates to be light and pleasant. When you are yourself and show her you’re having a good time, she will begin to see you as you really are. And she’ll like you, too.

Man: Oh?

Me: Don’t try so hard, don’t try to think what she’s thinking. Women love a man who has the courage to be himself. If you lead, she will follow.

Man: You’re so right Vikki.

I love these conversations. But not all escorts do. Many are clock watchers, constantly checking their phones to see when time is up, hearing men open up while they pretend they’re listening. The vast majority of escorts feel they are in a rut. They may have gotten into sex work out of necessity. Few of them would choose it had things been different.

I started out working in a brothel and that lasted about two weeks. I was set up with men whom the Madam chose for me, and they came into the bedroom, their eyes full of rage, as if they wanted to beat me up. But the worst was when they smelled badly of sweat, their breath stinking of cigarettes and booze. One man literally jumped me, tore off my dress, stuck it in and three minutes later, finished, then dressed and walked out. I quit that night, disgusted. That wasn’t what I wanted.

I got a lead about working for an escort agency, and I got there and was amazed at the professionalism. It was run by a woman who had herself been an escort. Kate taught me the ropes, and the clientele were men who were themselves selective about the women they wanted to be with, right down to hair color, size of boobs, height, even eye color!

Often I had the wrong kind of hair or my tits were too big. The client looked me over, stroking his beard, finally deciding to suck it up and accept me as it was. By the end of most dates, they specifically requested me again, to hell with my mismatched eyes! Why? Because I enjoyed being with them, and nothing more. And they liked that about me. Escorts need to be able to listen with interest, be a man’s intimate girlfriend for a few hours, a weekend, a morning. Men always think an escort is their girlfriend, their personal lover who is only there for him. Men possess, even two hours at a time.

I fall easily into that role, with pleasure. Women know what it’s like to watch a man when his eyes light up while he talks about something he loves, how he crosses his legs at certain times, how he looks at you to emphasize a point. Women are infatuated with thousands of men in their lifetimes. I’m infatuated at least five times every week.

Men love the attention a woman pays to them. They get it so little at home, or from their girlfriends, because their partner is so accustomed to them being around. I fill this need men have, and it makes them happy. It’s not because they merely got their rocks off, though that’s a part of it. It’s that someone paid attention to them.

Most escorts focus on the sex part of the date alone, caring little for the rest. Men can tell, too, when their escort date is bored. She picks ups her phone and lingers there with her customer, planning what’s next. Most escorts aren’t in the moment. The client’s insecurities resurface when girls act this way; he does not believe he is interesting or worth paying attention to. She doesn’t realize how poor a service she’s providing!

After a while, the majority of the requests were for me. Is it my fault they picked the wrong career? So many girls are in college, have boyfriends, and play escort a couple of times a week for extra cash. I made it a full-time career, planning for the future while still living in the moment. The others sat around, shooting me with the daggers in their eyes. Little did I know that they were planning to ruin me.