I'm not sure if this story really counts as sex work. But I did get paid for it. You can make up your own mind.
I was sitting home on a Saturday night, bored. Answered a random ad online for a guy that offered good $ to meet him for cocktails and entertain him with stories. That's it. He buys the drinks and dinner at my choice of venue, and I offer my companionship. I guess that's technically what's known as a "dinner date" in escort speak.
But I didn't tell him I was an escort. I thought if I was to entertain him for several hours with stories alone I was going to have to be the real me.
I thought it would be super hard work - like the energy drain of Sugar Daddy. But after a couple of $15 cocktails this guy and I really clicked. I was on fire. I was a modern day Scheherazade. Childhood stories, travel stories, silly stories, stories of heartbreak. After a while he chipped in his own stories and we questioned each other. Kind of sharing war wounds. Our energy rebounded and swirled as the hours faded away and I did kinda let slip I may be up for more if he wanted. I hinted I've been known to occasionally take cash for such acts.
Really though I wanted to rip his clothes off and take him home. Hell, I would have returned the cash and called it even.
He was a man of his word though. Nothing hinky. No hidden agendas. Kissed me on the cheek at midnight and I saw myself home, just like Cinderella.
Sigh. In another world, a world in which he was single, maybe we would have hit it off without the cash getting in the way.
I find myself thinking about him now. But as it's reputed Charlie Sheen once said, "You don't pay escorts that much cash for the sex. You pay them to leave at the end."