The escort in question

Originally from the U.K. and now in L.A,  Falene is a freelance writer who specializes in entertainment, online aliases and all things pop culture. Check out some of her work here and her website here!

Being relatively young, attractive, but by no stretch of the imagination independently wealthy, I’m not sure what led me to the online male escort site “Cowboys4Angels.” It certainly wasn’t the name. Regardless, what started as an initial curiosity, quickly developed into a very interesting exchange with agency owner Garren James. Followed by me booking a date with one of his male escorts, for my own research purposes and the benefit of writing this article only. Of course. 

Thanks to the popularity of HBO’s Hung, Showtime’s Gigolos and the upcoming movie Bel Ami, there’s something very in vogue about gigolos at the moment. The male escort is no longer a sordid Ron Jeremy caricature, or teenage hustler cruising the corners and boulevards. Today’s more executive escort caters to Janes, not Johns.

Garren’s company is exclusively for the ladies, with a talent roster that boasts male models, trainers and amateur athletes. And if these elusive creatures really do exist, what can they reveal about a woman’s true desires – when she’s footing the bill? Beyond the sensationalism of late night chat shows, or online articles generally condemning escort agencies for being morally bankrupt and their discreet female clientele as desperate, there was very limited real insight available. Sure, I’m no hedge fund CEO, but am I the only ordinary gal slightly fascinated by all this?

Compared to a lot of international publications, the U.S. media hadn’t really bothered to elaborate about these women’s honest experiences. Was it cheesy, thrilling, silly, liberating, pleasantly surprising? Learn anything new about yourself? I guess the surviving contestants of the latest Bachelor‘s every waking thought was more relevant, because Lord knows watching those women publicly ridicule themselves for free – is much less desperate. Obviously.

So that’s how I found myself, on a Thursday afternoon waiting in my neighborhood cafe, for my very own “cowboy.” Anthony, was hand picked by Moi for his full lips, high cheekbones, swimmers build and piercing blue eyes. Jude Law du jour, you know, if Jude Law was a sultry brunette from Kentucky that got paid by the hour.

Anyhoo, neither Anthony or Mr.James were aware – at this stage – that I intended to write about my experience. To both of them, I was just another paying – probably one time only – customer. Holiday house sitting for my friends apartment in Brentwood, before returning to the UK. Truth is I’ve been living in the US for the past 10 years.

The money had been provided to me earlier (*again for the purposes of this article only) and was waiting in an envelope in my upper left hand pocket, because technically speaking payment up front for someone’s time with no guarantee of sex, violates no laws in the state of California. Just so you know. I had also heard it’s customary to then hand the envelope to the escort upon arrival. Escort etiquette – how absolutely marvelous!

I was already enjoying this far too much. I wondered how does one act towards a person whose job it was to ensure that I was “pleased?” Would I go all Christopher Walken on his ass “WOW!”, prancing around cabaret style, simply suggesting that he “chase me.”(2:15) It certainly changes the usual dynamics, that’s for sure. Gone was any nervousness on my part, in fact I was lounging in me flip flops, leggings and scruffy baggy-T, with little to no make up on. I just hoped he resembled his rather flattering photos, as internet dating had proven to be a haven for false advertising to me in the past. When he arrived he really looked quite delicious, in fact part of me was half tempted to lick his face.

Perhaps before I continue you should know a little bit more about my other motivations for wanting to try this out.

ABOUT ME

I’m a bit of a loner at times, it’s not that I dislike being with people, I just prefer my time more when others aren’t around. Being from England I never really understood the American dating process, as all my romantic notions consisted of nostalgic drive-ins and poodle skirts. A far cry from L.A. in 2012. On top of that I’d been practically living like a nun for about a year now, having not experienced a “man-made” orgasm in ages. It’s fair to say that recently I’ve spent more time pursuing good cheesecake, as opposed to good cock. And a one night stand just isn’t on the cards for me anymore – the main reason being and I’m almost ashamed to admit it – I just can’t be bothered with the effort involved. When there’s only 2 things you hope to get out of it, really. Good sex or a bit of romance, which let’s face it these days, there’s no guarantee of either. I’m not anti-relationship, but I can’t say I’m actively looking for one. Marriage and kids have never been part of my 5 year plan, which for some can also be a dating deal breaker. There’s no biological clock in here, instead severe sugar lust, maternal cravings replaced by chocolate, but I digress.

So after watching Nightline (oh that’s how I got there) I decided to try something a little different. An alternative route, because my simple truth was I had become very lazy in this area of my life. Somewhere after 30, I had happily, slowly, turned into, Liz Lemon.

THE LUNCH

My initial reaction was how naturally polite and courteous he was, nothing over the top, just simple old fashioned things. Once we sat down and got chatting there was no need for a filter, all the things that you normally wouldn’t say, I couldn’t care less. No red flags, no holding back, I could discuss whatever I wanted to and I quickly realized it was because it no longer mattered what he thought of me. My first completely narcissistic date, with me playing the role of the narcissist. I could be nerdy, reveal my British eccentricities without question, the only goal being that I was having the best time. And that was absolutely brilliant!

We discussed art, my hatred of hipsters, my theory on how Sasha Gray’s personality traits resembled that of a Hunger Games‘ career tribute. I wanted to pick his brain, was there a protocol of a “date?” Should I direct him in what to do next, was he required to follow my every whim? By now I was on my second large glass of wine and quite convinced that I might just be the most interesting person in the world. Amused by my fishing for info, he calmly replied smiling, “Just to let you know Falene, I’m not actually obliged to do anything I don’t want to.” Damn. This man is smoldering, but there goes my plan to dress him up like “The Sky Captain” from “The World of Tomorrow.”

BACK TO MINE

When he gave me a ride home he mentioned that he had his table in his car, I had forgotten he was also a licensed massage therapist. Probably because of that fourth glass of wine. What I didn’t know is when he offered me a ride home my 2 hours weren’t already up, in fact I had a whole hour left. Wow, this boy was good! So I thought, why the hell not? I invited him in secure in the knowledge that his employer had thoroughly screened him. In other words he wasn’t nuts, which helps significantly when having a beautiful stranger enter your home for the first time. Even if I had told him it wasn’t my apartment.

A lot of women probably can’t imagine paying for an escort, but it sort of like the difference between a casual meal at home or a gourmet restaurant dinner. You get well fed in each situation, but with the latter you happily pay more for food preparation and the overall experience. As a woman, that was my feeling about paying for an escort.

As he set up the massage table I was completely at ease, even Babycat’s condescending gaze for once was being ignored. At this point I contemplated the costs thus far, and where this personal treat to myself seemed to be heading, I must admit it was proving well worth it. Eartha Kitt and Moloko were blaring from Pandora and all was right with the world. I had my own human doll and unlike Ken, underneath those charcoal Prada pants, I knew everything was anatomically correct. In fact by now I had estimated an hour “encounter” date, was actually quite affordable – 4 trips to the hair salon (before tip) to be exact. Trust me, I did the math.

MY MASSAGE

Naturally flirtatious, charming, with a relaxed demeanor, I got the impression that Anthony genuinely likes pleasuring women. He also really likes massaging their bits. So much in fact that he got a license to do so for a living. We talked very openly about our opinions on sexuality and our own personal experiences. Due to confidentiality clauses, escorts don’t talk about actual client “dates,” but Anthony spoke freely about his own personal life – outside of escorting. What followed next was one of the most sensual full body massages, I’ve ever had in my life!  As much as I tried I couldn’t stop secretly imagining how efficient he must be at good old fashion cunnilingus and him mentioning earlier that it was something he “he loved doing in his personal life” didn’t hurt. That laid back Matthew McConaughey cadence oozed sexy, it seeped from his every pore, without even trying he was positively dripping with sex. And after 40 minutes into my back rub, I could say the same thing about myself. So whether I wanted the skilled technique of a certified therapist or a good spanking from a male model, was irrelevant. Cause there he was, all 6ft1 of him, in the comfort of my own living room, eager to please. I clearly understand why there’s been a recent surge amongst working women for this type of “date.” It’s the guarantee of a safe, satisfactory experience and the manner in which that’s achieved.

Once he left the first question my girlfriend asked me over the phone was “how did you contain yourself?” My answer was, “I didn’t.” She continued, “but you didn’t even get oral!”  [tagbox tag=”sex workers”]

And although that had been literally racing through my mind, I guess not enough for me to actually instigate it or any other sort of heavy petting. I’m pretty confident he would have been more than happy to oblige. Although I never directly asked him, in my mind that would have also fallen into the category of whatever I wanted to do – right? But apparently what I really wanted to do was to get my half naked body rubbed in oils, become so turned on I almost  soaked my own undies and get those 14 really painful knots out of my lower back. I can’t imagine any other first date scenario where this could EVER happen. Every step based completely on my comfort level, even the moment when he leaned in and kissed me and we made out, just a little. I mean, I’m only human! Though he hadn’t asked my permission, he knew by then he didn’t need to, but I did inquire “why bother?” His response “Why wouldn’t I?” That a boy Anthony! “Besides you have really nice lips.” And you know what, I do have really nice lips so that’s as good a reason as any.

Make no mistake Anthony’s very good at his job – and that job is making a woman feel wonderful. Any chemistry experienced in those moments is genuine, but I don’t think he would be doing his job well if you weren’t left wanting more. He’s extremely easy on the eye and you feel very comfortable with him immediately, but that all comes with a price tag. Granted a couple of hours was no more expensive than a good pair of Louboutins, but I tend to favor paid experiences over tangible things – so it worked for me. This is definitely not everyone’s cup of tea. The best advice I could give, having tried it for myself is, if this is something you are genuinely curious about doing ask yourself, “If I could spend 2 hours with Jude Law, would it be worth paying for?”

Later that evening soaking in my bath I calculated the interest rates of the local loan sharks – to see if I could actually afford a bi-monthly, 3 hour, full body massage without getting into serious debt – or my knees broken. But that was just a passing thought, because, thankfully, Babycat would never allow my financial ruin by approving such a thing.