I was an emotional prostitute
And no, it’s not what you think
It was my sophomore year of college when my (male) roommate told me that he thought I was a prostitute because I had a lot of different men over and they often spent the night. Although, in retrospect, I don’t believe that clients of hookers ever do spend the night. Regardless, he thought I was having a lot of sex with a large variety of men. This could not be further from the truth. At 19, I had only had sex with one man (to my knowledge) and it was recent. As in, I was a virgin until I was 18/19 (the exact timing is fuzzy because I drank a lot and did a lot of drugs) and I had only had sex with one man before I experienced a sort of sexual awakening. But anyways, these men who were coming in and out of my life did pay me for a service. But that service did not include sex. It did occasionally include cuddling.
So here’s how it works (worked? Not sure it would work today but do go ahead and try it and report back to let me know). To begin with I want to say that I’m not incredibly good looking. I’m probably average. But I was cute. At the time I was doing a lot of heroin and that gave me the ability to not give a shit what anyone thought of me. I guess this helped in attracting the “right” type of man.
Basically what I did was fill a hole in a mans life. So I would let them believe I was their girlfriend. As such, I had several “boyfriend”, both online and in person. In order to begin and continue the relationship, the men had to pay.
The online ones were the easiest. They would send money and I would spend hours chatting with them online or on the phone. The topic of sex came up infrequently. More often they would want to tell me about their day, about work, about their wife and kids if they had them (and many did).
Because I was a bitch, I derived great pleasure out of knowing that I was getting money that belonged to another woman. I can’t tell you why. Maybe because I’m an addict. And attention is just another drug I crave along with all the rest. Their money fed my ego and my veins. Win win.
To keep them hanging on, I would give them false hope that I would one day come to their city/state/country and we would be together. I had multiple men from across the globe sending me money. Some thought they were paying my rent. Or bills. Or buying me clothes and other pretty things. All that money went to support my growing heroin addiction. What a life.
But let’s get back to the stream of men who were coming in and out of my apartment at all hours. Those were either fellow dope fiends coming over to shoot up with me or they were men who paid to spend time with me. I called what I did “emotional prostitution” because instead of selling my body, I sold my mind and made them feel like they were emotionally and intellectually connected to me. So we would hang out and talk and watch movies or television shows. We would act like a couple. I would let them sleep in my bed so long as they didn’t try anything. And I got off on watching them squirm as they attempted to sleep next to a half naked chick and tried not to move. Not a lot of sleep happened. I won’t lie. I was a bitch and I enjoyed the whole event. And throughout all of this, they would give me money or buy me gifts. Anytime I was upset or lonely, I had a list of guys I could call who would bring over pizza and ice cream and cuddle with me as we watched telly.
If I wanted sex, I had another list of men I could call. But the men I had sex with and the men I was using for money could never mix. I lived by one simple rule that as soon as you gave the man what he really wanted (that being sex), he would no longer spend his hard earned money on you frivolously. Because really all these men just wanted to fuck me. They kept coming around and giving money for that sole purpose. And I continued to wave that promise of sex in their face until they got tired of waiting and eventually dropped me.
I had men tell me that I hurt them because I led them on. And I guess that I did. I just didn’t care back then. I was so fucked up. All I cared about was getting money for drugs and getting male attention to feed my fragile ego. I didn’t see all these men as people. I saw them as things to be used for my own needs and then disposed when they no longer served a purpose. I’m not really proud of that. At the time I just used the shield of emotional prostitute, saying I was providing a service, saying it was okay to objectify these men because they too were objectifying me. They saw a cute, young girl they wanted to shag and they pursued me. Was I a predator? Perhaps. But they were also. It was a bit of a dance, that. Both parties wanted something from the other. In the end, I got what I wanted and they got… something. They didn’t get sex but they got my time (which I still believe is very valuable). To that end, I gave a lot to those men. I gave a lot of effort in playing a role for them. I gave a lot of emotional support. I played the girlfriend for them. And I allowed them to sleep next to me. I allowed them to exist in my presence and that was something. For some reason, a lot of men wanted that. They were willing to pay for it. In essence, I saw a need that wasn’t being met and I decided to capitalize on it, with much success. All in all, I believe it was a solid business model — emotional prostitution. It served me well. And I would do it all over again if I had the chance. No regrets. No apologies.