The last few years of my life, I’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars visiting escorts. Not for pleasure, not for thrill, but for something deeper I could never quite touch: connection. Love. Its to feel wanted, even if it is for an hour or so.
And for that hour, maybe I could pretend that her smile meant something, her touch wasn’t rehearsed. That I wasn’t just another name, another number, another transaction. But when the door closed behind me, so did the fantasy. And then I will be stuck in this endless cycle of standing in silence, emptier than before.
What breaks me most is knowing is that there are guys out there who get these things—love, touch, conversation, laughter, even just being seen—without paying a penny. They meet someone. They fall in love. They hold hands at no cost. They have someone who asks them how their day was, just because they care. They get affection without an expiry time.
I paid for what they get for free, and even then, I never really had it.
Many of the escorts when asked about their future plans, they mentioned saying they just need to collect some money for their higher education or for any other purpose and then they will leave the industry as they are not obsessed with it.I’ve seen some of the escorts I visited move on, leave the industry, heal, grow, fall in love for real. I’m happy for them, honestly. But I’m still here, stuck in the same patterns. Still clinging to memories that were only ever mine. Still hoping for something more in a space that doesn’t offer it.
Escorts don’t owe me love. That’s not what they’re selling. But I think part of me kept hoping—foolishly—that if I came back enough, paid enough, felt enough, maybe someone would stay. They never do.
This post isn’t about blame. It’s about pain. About the crushing realization that no matter how much money I spend, I cannot buy what I’m really looking for.
I don’t know what healing looks like yet. But I know it starts by finally admitting: I deserve real love. The kind that doesn’t come with a price tag. The kind I see others get without even trying.
And maybe, just maybe, I still have a chance to find it too.
And for that hour, maybe I could pretend that her smile meant something, her touch wasn’t rehearsed. That I wasn’t just another name, another number, another transaction. But when the door closed behind me, so did the fantasy. And then I will be stuck in this endless cycle of standing in silence, emptier than before.
What breaks me most is knowing is that there are guys out there who get these things—love, touch, conversation, laughter, even just being seen—without paying a penny. They meet someone. They fall in love. They hold hands at no cost. They have someone who asks them how their day was, just because they care. They get affection without an expiry time.
I paid for what they get for free, and even then, I never really had it.
Many of the escorts when asked about their future plans, they mentioned saying they just need to collect some money for their higher education or for any other purpose and then they will leave the industry as they are not obsessed with it.I’ve seen some of the escorts I visited move on, leave the industry, heal, grow, fall in love for real. I’m happy for them, honestly. But I’m still here, stuck in the same patterns. Still clinging to memories that were only ever mine. Still hoping for something more in a space that doesn’t offer it.
Escorts don’t owe me love. That’s not what they’re selling. But I think part of me kept hoping—foolishly—that if I came back enough, paid enough, felt enough, maybe someone would stay. They never do.
This post isn’t about blame. It’s about pain. About the crushing realization that no matter how much money I spend, I cannot buy what I’m really looking for.
I don’t know what healing looks like yet. But I know it starts by finally admitting: I deserve real love. The kind that doesn’t come with a price tag. The kind I see others get without even trying.
And maybe, just maybe, I still have a chance to find it too.