Part 3: The Happily Forever After Ending

I approached my second “happy ending” experience simultaneously a bit more diligently researched while also a bit less physically prepared. I’d stayed up all night prior on a shroom trip with my dearest friends. It was beautiful, but I was certain I’d gotten less than three hours of sleep, and of those three hours, I didn’t feel as though my body had enjoyed any proper REM cycles. At best, I’d taken a shallow drug nap. Stepping back slightly further, the night prior to the shroom trip night, I’d done what I’d thought was ketamine, but what instead turned out to be the worst thing in the world. I’d had a terrifying evening where managed to get lost in a small two room basement venue.

All of this to say, my body was hardly hanging on by my Saturday afternoon appointment. I was very hungover when I found the studio, but in spite of the ringer I’d put my body through, I was optimistic.

Days prior, my masseuse, John Roux had begun our email correspondence by sending me a “sensual touch survey”. Included in the survey were a number of pictures and gifs alongside questions about my comfort and enjoyment of various kinds of touch around my erogenous zones. Did I like my breasts touched? Bottom? Clitoral stimulation? Vaginal penetration? Anal penetration? How did I feel about dildos and vibrators? Had I experienced any sexual assault and did I have any triggers he needed to know about? Did I want him to be fully clothed during the massage or did I want some level of undress? It was a relief to simply be able to lay out those basic ground rules. We scheduled a facetime chat to get a feel for each other. If you’re a woman interested in buying sex work from a man, I’d highly recommend this step.

John is a white man in his mid to late thirties with dark brown hair and black rimmed, squarish glasses that give off the vibe that he avidly listens to NPR. I wasn’t looking for someone I was attracted to, just someone who wouldn’t creep me out, and John seemed to fit the criteria. I explained that I was a sex worker, and that while I had survived sexual assault, I didn’t have any major triggers. I asked about the toy usage and if it was a standard thing he did, and he clarified that he only uses toys that clients bring in if they’re instructed him to use them. I didn’t want him to use anything on me because I’m a little toyed out in my personal life. I use vibrators every time I have any kind of penetrative sex. It’s something I’ve kinda hazed my partners into, not that they have any reason to hate. My kitty gets hella tight with my vibe in place, and Hassan actively grabs it for me at this point. Anyway, graphic details aside, I wanted that puro experience of someone who simply has a nuanced sense of touch. John assured me he would follow the preferences I’d listed in the sensual touch survey, including the part where I specified that I wanted him to remain clothed during the encounter. He gave me the option of having the session at Niki’s apartment or a studio co-op space he rents to perform his services. I opted for the co-op. Lastly, we ironed out rates. It’s incredibly risky to list rates online as a sex worker, especially now that SESTA/FOSTA is in effect. I don’t entirely know about the legality of happy ending massage work. It’s not full service, but I’m not sure if it falls into the quasi legal realm of pro domming or if it borders closer to the illegal realm of escorting. Mr. Roux phrased the service as “donation based,” so I inquired to see what he considered to be fair. He told me $160 is what he averages for a session. $80 goes to covering the co-op rental cost, then the rest goes into his pocket. It seemed fair, even if I was sweating a bit over the realization I was blowing nearly $400 on sex work this week. I wanted to spend more tipping him if the session went well, but I knew I was going to end up being a little stingy. I felt like I was breaking all of my “bad client” rules, but wage gap~

Saturday morning, I peeled myself off of the floor where I’d been taking my drug nap and showered in preparation for the massage.

I need to sidebar this by saying I’m fucking amazed by how few of my strip club clients do any hygienic preparation prior to arriving at the club. I’ve danced on people doing all kinds of work, all day from construction to taking eighteen hour international flights, who come in without showering, checking their breath, or literally anything. Actually, I’ve encountered more conscientious construction workers than white collar professionals. Another sidebar to this sidebar: I also feel like there’s an incredible neglect when it comes to male grooming. Why is it acceptable for men to have wild eyebrows and inches long chest hairs while literally every woman I know gets plucked and threaded religiously? But, I digress.

Anyway, I showered and hopped on a train to Manhattan. The building wasn’t too hard to find. I rang the bell and walked up two flights of stairs to the studio. It was surprisingly tasteful. There was a reception area with snacks, water, and coffee for visitors. To the right was a fully equipped shower area. I snooped around, and found a stack of business cards. The co-op turned out to be a multipurpose facility for sex workers of various kinds to provide their services, from daddy play to slippery wrestling (I could have misread that) and femdomming. There was something especially comforting knowing I was in a sex work co-op. When I saw that, I knew I was in exactly the right place for this experience.

The massage room was equal to any other massage room at a spa. It was cozy and warm when I arrived, and the massage table was equipped with a heating pad. There was some kind of aromatherapy situation, and John offered me a variety of sound options for the session. I chose ambient new age music. He left the room for me to strip down, which I appreciated, because it isn’t the most graceful activity and I’m a little anal about folding my clothes and placing them in a tidy pile. I considered keeping my socks and gloves on because my fingers and toes get cold easily, and I was still trying to shake off the snowy New York chill, but I decided against it because I felt it would look awkward. It’s not as if looking awkward should have been a concern for me, in fact John and I had talked a bit about the necessity of not feeling pressured to reciprocate since women are conditioned to feel obliged to provide pleasure, especially in sexual situations. Was I leaving the gloves and socks aside because I was still subconsciously presenting myself to him? Maybe partially. It’s truly difficult to unlearn societal conditioning.

John knocked on the door, checking to see if I was ready to begin. I told him I was, but mentioned that my hands and feet were cold. The massage started off slow and gentle. It began as essentially a regular massage, breaking the touch barrier before diving into erogenous zone stimulation. In between, John checked in to see how I was feeling and if I was enjoying myself. He also made sure to check if my hands were cold, which they often were, so he periodically spent time holding my hands to warm them. Staying warm is crucial for me to relax and enjoy myself, and John adjusted the room temperature to keep me comfortable.

Unlike my first happy ending experience, John had no trouble making me come. He was attuned to my body and progressed gradually. I would definitely recommend him to anybody with a vulva.

Was it worth it? Oh yes. I had fun and I’m always down for an adventure. It was empowering reversing the roles and becoming a buyer. I don’t think I’d considered it seriously until recently when I was considering why I think sex work is so important. Idealist that I am, I still hope for a future where women and nb folx will be equal consumers in the commercial sex industry. Sexual health and pleasure is important, and sex work can be a safe means to explore ourselves without a lot of the pressures we find out in the wild. I loved being the focus of the experience. I didn’t have to think about pleasing John; how I feel about being penetrated by a penis; or about cuddling (y/n?) and other niceties. I could just be utterly selfish, and I will 100% pay to be selfish again. I also realized that I have a lot more fantasies I could definitely satisfy by hiring the right professionals. I’m ready to get weird.

After posting this story, lots of men DM’d me to say that they couldn’t understand how a pretty girl like me would feel the need to pay someone. It’s not that I don’t have people who want to fuck me or who would be down to eat my pussy all day. I do (most of the time), but what I want is more complicated. I’m starting to realize I have kinks and fetishes I haven’t felt safe enough to explore in an intimate relationship. Commercial sex allows me the distance to play without allowing the mundane bits of normal life and worry to creep in. Now I gotta find some freaks in LA. Excited for this new chapter.

Overall, it was a dope experience, and I hope people show the boy some love. DM me if you want a pic of his business card.