In Vriendin (Girlfriend) magazine 28 of 2008 journalist Anna decides to order a gigolo after she has read several news articles about well-known writers who have ordered a gigolo from Women of the World (now The Courtesan Club). These journalists all had in common that they didn’t go ‘all the way’ and that’s exactly what Anna intends to do when she orders a gigolo from the best escort agency in the Netherlands.
A fine and beautiful man for rent, the perfect sex… Would you do it, call a gigolo for an appointment? Anna from Vriendin Magazine did.
A Gigolo please!
Here I sit on the bed in a classy, anonymous hotel along the highway, waiting for the craziest date of my life. With trembling hands I grope for yet another cigarette, the fourth in the last half hour. Smoking is actually not allowed in this room, but I opened the windows wide and watch the fire alarm carefully. Six more minutes to go, that is, if my date is on time. My date: gigolo Marc, with whom I intend to (oh, no, why on earth) go all the way.
It all started out as just a fun, spontaneous idea (for an article): “I could go out with gigolo!” I suggested. “He’ll tell me the ins and outs of his work, I have no problem with testing out his kissing skills, and who knows, maybe even get a massage once back at my place?” My editor thinks it’s a good idea.
“Only,” she says, “you have to go beyond just wining & dining. That’s been written about so often and when it comes to the end of the date, nothing happens. You must go further. Much further.” I start laughing. This must be a joke… Apparently not.
Piece of cake
My first reaction: no way. Go to bed with an unknown man and pay for it too? That would be crazy. Who knows, maybe he’s totally not my type and just because I’m single again after a long relationship doesn’t mean that I dive into bed with everyone! Not with everyone, no. But ok, every now and again I do get myself some action. And I must admit that the craziest, naughtiest adventures are often the icing on the cake experiences. Like that one time with that young guy in that shady club; we only spoke for 10 minutes before ’getting out of there’. We managed to get each other so excited by email that when he came by we didn’t know how quickly we had to undress each other. And then that threesome, with those two old school friends. But isn’t this gigolo adventure a very special challenge?
For months I’ve thought about it, even spoken with my girlfriends about it, and I discover that the biggest reason for not doing it is simple: As a woman, this is just not done. It’s ridiculous. On the other hand, I have no accountability to anyone and why not try out what men traditionally have been doing for so long? I see myself as an independent, free-spirited single don’t I?
Time to sweep the floor with my own narrow mind! Would I be able to enjoy a beautiful, experienced man without shame? Ok I’m paying him for it, but he’d be there for my satisfaction. How would it be to not have to worry about how I come across, whether I am doing well or whether I am showing off my best angles? Because even though I’m in my thirties and I really enjoy sex, even without love, these things still haunt my head in bed.
I’m ready and prepared for my gigolo date and what do you know, I fall in love. Cheating on my new boyfriend with a gigolo is, of course, out of the question. But then the new boyfriend cheats on me, and after a recovery period, the gigolo idea reappears. After months of weighing and stumbling between ‘never’ and ‘who knows’, an article in the Heleen van Royen Magazine pushes me over the threshold. Not even with Heleen van Royen did it get to the end! Apparently because he couldn’t get it up, but isn’t that just a convenient loophole? Enough is enough! Here comes someone who will go all the way. Step one: get in touch with the best escort agency.
The only good option seems to be ‘Women of the World’ in Amsterdam, which is run by women. They offer ladies and gentlemen. The site looks beautiful and reputable. “I would like to book a man,” I email them. “Who do you recommend to me?” I press send with a pounding heart. This already feels very real and scary. I receive a response within the hour. What do I want, what am I looking for? After some consultation Marc seems to be very suitable for me. A charming, beautiful man, thirty-three, dark curly hair. Marc. Mmmm, just the name – probably not his real name! – is already causing jitters in my abdomen. The photos on the site, while unrecognizable, show a sexy body. Okay. Marc it will be.
I prepare an email with my wish list. All my wishes. Exciting! It goes wrong twice. The first date I have to cancel myself, the second is cancelled by Marc, shortly beforehand; he has to unexpectedly go abroad for his “other” work. I’ve been so nervous for days that I’m actually relieved that it doesn’t go through.
Will the fear of cold water win anyway? Spring jitters decide differently. It has been lovely spring weather for days, eroticism is almost tangible in the air. “I want sex!” Texts a cheerful girlfriend and while I write back: “Me too, but where are those nice men?” Marc shoots through my head again.
Would he be available again? Yes.
Does he have time tomorrow? Yes.
I stare out the window for a long time. It’s now or never. Now it is.
An hour and a half before our date I drive to the hotel I booked for this occasion. It still looks exactly the same, even though I brought candles, incense, music and champagne. Just before I expect him, I take a long shower, shave and spray on my favorite perfume. I put my hair up carefully and wrap myself in a lingerie set and clothes that I feel comfortable in. Nothing overly sexy; I have committed to not to show off in any way. It’s not about whether he finds me attractive. Let him do the work. That’s why I’m paying him 450 euros for after all.
The money is already on the table: nine fifty notes. I’m waiting with confusing jitters. Excitement I hardly feel, unfortunately, the nervousness for the unknown is too overwhelming. My biggest fear is that Marc will disappoint me and I will not feel any attraction. Article or no article: then he turns around.
All my nerves turn out to be in vain. Marc knocks on time and when I open the door I look into the smiling face of a beautiful, masculine, sexy guy with sparkling eyes. Relief surges through me. This is a man I would turn my head for three times on a terrace. He is in a tight suit, at my request, I love that. And he smells good! Marc kisses me on my cheeks and I feel my tension slip and give way to excited curiosity.
After I’ve poured us a drink, we first handle the financial part. Then we sit down and talk; him on the bed, me in a chair. He now knows that I’m a journalist. I feel comfortable with that and I don’t think it matters to him. I can’t help but giggle here and there, Marc grins back relaxed. “How long he has been doing this work and what his motivation is. “About three years,” he replies. “I do it because I enjoy sex related adventures. For example, I’ve often visited swingers clubs in the past. I rented myself out as a gigolo at one of those clubs and it turned out to be very nice. I enjoy pampering a woman. It’s always exciting for myself, too.”
It’s not the case that he often has a date, he says. It turns out that not many women call a gigolo. He has an appointment once every three or four weeks. Often with business women who are in the Netherlands from abroad. Or women whose husbands are travelling. He is also a consultant in ICT, where nobody knows anything about his double life. I ask if there are ever women with whom he really thinks: I just can’t do this. “Well, that could happen,” says Marc. “I would just say it. Fortunately, that has never happened.” The look in his eyes leaves me without a doubt.
We talk a little further, then he asks me to sit next to him. I do exactly that. I’m glad he takes initiative. My nerves are gone and I feel determined. I’m taking the leap and making love to this delicious man doesn’t bother me at all.
He strokes my neck and gently loosens my hair. Tingles creep up my back. I had previously informed the agency that I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss but agreed that I would start with that, if necessary. Sex without kissing seems very bare to me, so I bend over to Marc. His tongue is soft and warm. We sit back on the bed and kiss and caress for a while. Calm, tender. If I suddenly become a bit uncomfortable, I take a big sip of champagne. That relaxes me.
I feel my body respond to his touches. I find it very exciting to be undressed by a completely unknown man. A very sexy man, clean-shaven. Nice to look at. Strangely enough, I feel more and more distant after about ten minutes. My body surrenders, I cannot empty my head. It’s not that I worry about dimples in my legs, not at all. I also don’t feel dirty, bad or weird. I do realize though that I miss the real interaction. Marc is only doing this because I paid him for it, not because he chose me himself and I can’t get this out of my head. I feel anonymous, exchangeable and completely undesirable. That gnaws. Even an insignificant one-night stand is based on the fact that you both genuinely want something and long for each other.
Even though Marc’s enthusiastic attitude allows me to believe this is pleasing to him – besides, he has a good erection – the questions go through my head: is that real or because of a pill? Would he prefer that our time was over already?” I could ask, but I don’t trust his responses, they may be scripted. These questions stand in the way of real surrender and pleasure, despite his skilled hands, tongue and later, penis.
Slowly I dream away
I avoid eye contact; a fake a connection that simply isn’t there is not want I want. I prefer to close my eyes and focus purely on the feeling in my body. That works. Slowly I dream away. A climax is not far away because Marc really knows how to please a woman and is – I had not expected otherwise – pleasantly large.
Obviously he uses a condom and handles it very deftly. But as I lie on the bed drifting back to reality I feel that once was enough for me. Because I still want to finish the game and I (even in these bizarre circumstances) feel sorry he didn’t climax, I ask him to bring himself to an orgasm. That live sex show, in which he is only focused on himself, turns out to be wonderful. That I dare to ask him that! It gives me a tingling sense of power. But it doesn’t bring new excitement; that’s all right, done. I crawl against him for a moment.
Funnily enough, I can easily surrender to the feeling of intimacy and coziness that talking and laughing together evokes. Then we take a shower. Together. But we don’t soap each other. If it had been ahead of time, that would have been appropriate for the game, but I don’t think it would make sense now. The game is over, the two hours booked are almost over; the business transaction is almost over. After three more kisses on my cheek – very strange after he just lay naked next to, on and in me – and one last laugh, Marc leaves.
I have no regrets at all
I pour the last champagne and sit with a cigarette in front of the mirror, grinning at my own face and feel elated. Marc was a really nice, charming guy, I don’t feel weird or embarrassed in any way. I have no regrets at all. However, I know that this was a one-time thing for me. And it’s not even about the crazy amount of money that this joke cost. Still, I thought it was a unique and wonderful experience. I leave the hotel with a smile that lasts for days.
I shared my experience with around six friends and I only got positive reactions. But I now know what makes sex really good sex for me. Not a beautiful body or breathtaking sexual skills, but a voluntary interaction and mutual, genuine act.
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