Just to be clear, I don't regret a damn thing.
Not any of it. Not going to university, not dating Rebecca, and certainly not becoming an escort. Do I go screaming on the rooftops about my profession? No. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't admit it if push came to shove.
Selling sex has been around since the dawn of time. Some say it even predates agriculture. Most sex workers, as many like to point out, are victims. They're trafficked or otherwise coerced into selling their bodies, usually to someone else's benefit. But for a select few of us, escorting is a choice.
Getting paid several hundred dollars an hour to have sex almost sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Meet a client at their home or a hotel room, chat for a bit, have sex and leave. Fork over some money to your agent for making it all possible, and go about your day.
Oddly enough, sleeping with over 100 women isn't what I'm most proud of. Neither is paying my own rent and other expenses with money to spare in my early 20s. No, what I'm the most proud of is this blog -- of sharing my life story with the world. The emails are the best, as are the discussions on Twitter.
Seeing that prostitution is illegal in the United States (well, almost -- it's legal in the brothels of Nevada, but the less said of them, the better), I can't really talk openly about my experiences. This blog was a way to rant, rave and share everything I've experienced in escorting thus far.
As time moves forward, and I make plans to leave Miami for New York, part of me can't help be sad. I'll miss this line of work. I'll miss my clients -- some more than others -- but most of all the freedom that came with being a sex worker. And quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if I kept on doing it in New York, at least every once in awhile.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: After graduating university, I became a whore.
I'll stand by my decision until the day I die.
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