It all began not so long ago. On a dreary January evening, as I sat in my mouldy tiny dorm without any heating, I began to fantasise.

In my previous post I talked briefly about how I found my way into the world of sex work. After a long string of abysmal relationships (and each one deserves a post of its own), I decided that my compensation for the time wasted is long overdue. A couple of days after breaking up with my last ex, I signed up to a funny little website which some of you have heard of – Seeking Arrangement.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Seeking Arrangement; it’s a social network designed to put wealthy men who want sex and companionship, in touch with broke naive (usually) female students who are ready to sell themselves cheap. Ignoring the familiar cover-buzzwords such as “companionship” and “mutual affection”, it is essentially freelance escorting/sugar-coated prostitution. Either due to the current economic climate or due to the enormous number of escorting agencies popping up like mushrooms after the rain, a thing such as “allowance” seems to be pretty unheard of these days. Everything boils down to “pay per play” which is usually far below the hourly rate of what an average escort makes.

As a general rule, the girls on the website are divided into several categories: professional escorts who are on the prowl for cheaper escorting experiences. There are also some self-entitled “princesses”. The latter believe that men must fall at their feet and throw thousands of pounds a month at them just for existing without actually doing anything other than breathing the same air as them. Some girls are looking for their one true love (but that true love must ideally be an oil magnate or a media mogul). And then there are a few girls like me, who have absolutely no bloody idea what they are doing on there.

The men are a different story. It goes without saying that most of them are in fact, married.

Species #1 are usually very married and very horny. Some are serial adulterers, but others are encouraged to have mistresses by their wives.

Species #2 is the Older Gentleman who is either divorced or chooses to remain an eternal bachelor. Usually very capricious and will expect you to turn up at any specified location at a snap of his fingers.

Species #3- the Young and Cheap. Usually, they are young businessmen and banker-boys who make a decent living but will very much treat you like a whore (in the worst intended sense of that word). Don’t expect to be spoiled and worshipped; he will be mercilessly negotiating the price down while wanting no strings attached because he feels that he is entitled to special treatment due to not being “some gross old dude”.

Species #4 The Tip-Toer. Usually married (on average for about 5-10 years) and wants something fresh and exciting. Alas, his conscience doesn’t let him sleep at night. He usually has little kids, but his wife will not take it up the arse. They have not had sex in over two years, and the question of blowjobs has probably never come up at all. You may even end up going out for a drink, but chances are nothing will actually ever happen because he simply enjoys chatting to younger girls and feeling desired.

My first encounter was with Species #2 and let me give you a piece of advice gentlemen, never use the same profile picture on a sleazy hook-up website as your LinkedIn. I knew everything about him within the first 2 minutes, but boy, his blandness exceeded all my expectations. He had a personality of a soggy cream cracker. His profile picture was at least a decade old while his skin looked like a crossover between cracked latex and old parchment paper. When I entered the pub where we agreed to meet for lunch, he was busy scooping out his tomato puree from a glass with a celery stick. He was not in the slightest interested in getting to know me and surprisingly, was not interested in intimacy either. Instead, he spent the next hour mansplaining to me the bare basics of my degree (political sciences). I excused myself and left, or rather, ran without looking back.

My next encounter also fell into the second category perhaps, but I would have classified him as more of an “amoeba”. He reminded me of an overgrown stick insect who spent most of his time living alone, talking to his dogs and staring at stock-market charts. He, in fact, exceeded the first gentleman in his lack of personality and was clearly, absolutely terrified of talking to me. After chugging about 5 fancy cocktails he finally croaked “You have very hairy arms. It’s rather unusual”. Which I guess sounded like a compliment in his head. He then proceeded to tell me all about his irritable bowel syndrome and clinical depression, which caused him to want all of humanity to become extinct. His final attempt at flirting was trying to rope me into some “Mother Earth” cult.

There were others too. A very wealthy lawyer I spoke to on the phone who openly told me that girls like me “do not belong on SA” and I should go back to “reading Harry Potter or going to Comicon conventions”. He sincerely believed from the bottom of his heart that women should neither work nor go to university nor vote. He asked me out to dinner but when I cut short his interrogation about my favourite sex-positions and showcased my understanding of abstract mathematical concepts (I genuinely don’t know how we got onto that topic) he hung up, blocked my number and sent me a horrible message on SA saying that I am “rude and act like an 80s power woman” (the latter I took as a compliment)

There were a couple of Tip-Toer specimens who droned on about their boring domestic lives, and I can no longer even recall their names, let alone their faces. There was one who looked like an absolute movie star, and I wanted to do unspeakable things to him from the moment I saw him. Sadly (for me), he was really into watersports (does not mean what you think it means) and being paraded on a leash in a gimp mask.

And then I met Stephen*. Stephen contacted me himself, and to this day, I don’t quite know what to make of that encounter. He wanted fun and was not even particularly interested in learning my name. He turned out to be a very big Broadway producer with Ivy League education and millions in his coffers. For a wealthy man of his caliber, he was rather cheap when it came to “fun”. We had tea and macaroons at one of the most luxurious hotels in London, and then we proceeded to “the next level” for about 1.5 hours in his hotel room. Sexually, not a lot actually happened, and I left with 500 pounds which he had discretely slipped into my purse. This was the easiest money I had ever made in my life. We repeated the experience a couple of days later while he was still in town for business and this is the story of how I made my first grand from just sleeping next to someone in the same bed. Even though it was supposed to be a continuous arrangement, I never actually saw him and heard from him again.

There was also Adam*, a handsome silver fox and #1 specimen, who to my greatest shock and horror turned out to be the father of a kid I went to primary school with over a decade ago. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from being spectacular in bed and handing me an even more handsome envelope of cash. We saw each other twice.

But after that my interest in seeking arrangement and sugar daddies waned and I thought that it was time to make things a bit more efficient and professional.

It was time to find an agent…