How I became a gay escort

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Fiction. Part 1

There’s a common misconception that if you work in the escorting industry that you have ‘ended up’ there after a long and turbulent journey through drug abuse problems and childhood trauma. People paint images of scarcely clad, disheveled women selling blow jobs on street corners in the dead of winter. Of controlling pimps and manipulated men doing dirty deeds in suspiciously stained hotel rooms against their will. The truth couldn’t be further from this ludicrous imagery. In my community of escorts, we navigate the industry by building and running our own individual businesses in the most efficient and lucrative ways possible. There are no pimps, there is no coercion, and everything we do, we do it because we so choose. If you were expecting a dramatic sob story about a man who lost his way, you will not find that here.  

     I led a very bog-standard life up until the moment I met Alex. I went to school, I went to the University of Manchester, graduating with a first class honors bachelors of science in International Business. I had done well; the problem was that I graduated with student debt as potent as the qualification itself. So, I embarked on a mission to get a cash-dense graduate job that would utilise my entrepreneurial skills as well as help me set myself up post university. I worked for a couple of start-up companies, I did marketing for a cowboy company, I would work long hours for difficult people on a less than average salary – I was tired, fed up and deflated. It was at this point that I decided that I wanted to start my own business. It would be the perfect way out! I just needed an idea that had a low startup cost, and a high mark up, as I wasn’t yet the banked-up business owner I intended to become.  

     I went for a drink in the city that night, I stood at the bar waiting to be served, the establishment was rich in white marble and lit up with bright and luxurious light fixtures. I had put my best foot forward this night, my hair perfectly slicked back, my dark Italian features stood out against my perfectly ironed white shirt. A splash of creed on my skin, just enough to leave an intoxicating scent in the air that fills the steps behind me.  

    I was waiting on an old fashioned when a man, dressed almost identically to myself came and sat next to where I was stood at the bar. He turned and smiled in my direction. Initially, I felt uncomfortable. 

“You okay?” He asked. I nodded. “Alex Porter” He said as he put his hand out to shake mine.  

“Alouicious”, I replied, matching his hand with mine.  

Alex laughed to himself “Alouicious? That’s perfect, alright Alouicious, I have a proposition for you, keep your mind open, and listen very carefully. I am an escort, I rent my companionship to those who require my services. I need help, and you look right for the part. I have a client I can’t see tonight. £150 an hour to take them to dinner, and we go from there?” 

    I was struck by his forwardness, it felt like such a surreal proposition. There was a writhing knot in my stomach that was urging me to tell him to leave. But I was a perfect combination of fed-up, intrigued, open minded, and ready to go – so I obliged. I figured, what’s the worst that can happen?  

“What is their name?” I asked. Alex smiled.