Well in my experience that’s pretty much true.

Not only  do I know if I would sleep with him hypothetically, but for the most part I can also tell if it will actually happen in real life.

So there’s this guy.

He’s kinda cute, deep voice, very intelligent.

I became intrigued by him one day out of the seeming blue after having seen him everyday for awhile. He struck me as the shy, reserved, inexperienced type and for some reason that made me even more curious. So I started to talk to him. And eventually he’d talk back and then I noticed he’d blush and smile when I greeted him.

We got together one morning to play SCRABBLE.

I won (I always win).

We’d go to the movies, cafes. We’d talk on the phone. Our relationship was wonderfully platonic.

See, it was taking me way longer than five minutes with this one. I enjoyed his company immensely but couldn’t determine if there’d be any sexual chemistry there.

One day a bunch of us (meaning me. the guy an a group of our mutual friends) were horsing around and this one guy who’s like my little brother asks me what I want for Valentine’s day.

I whisper to him that I’d like for someone to tie me up and spank me.

He related this to another mutual friend who then asked if he could do the honors.

“I’m taking applications,” was my reply.

I held out my hand and told him to hit it.

He hit like a bitch.

Immediate disqulification.

Another friend of ours came by (and incidentally it only took five seconds before I knew I’d hypothetically jump his bones) I asked him to hit my hand.

He raised his arm and brought it down hard.

My hand turned red instantly and welted up within a few minutes.

I smiled.

Too bad he had a girlfriend.

I was tempted to ask my platonic friend to hit my hand just out of curiosity but I held out at first. Would I offend him? We’d never joked like that.

But I wasn’t going to find out where this might go if I didn’t push limits a little.

I walked up to him, smiled, held out my hand.

He looked up at me, blushed, smiled back.

And then….he walked away.

Didn’t even take the hand test.

Whether he was a prude or just not into spanking didn’t matter at that point.

Didn’t want to spank my hand?

That settles it.

Friends it is.

The scene: my apartment, two weeks after the big break up, sometime back in November.

This post break up cohabitation has officially become unbearable.

After my onlining, I took a nice long hot shower and then turned on Dancing with the Stars.

I was feeling quite amourous especially since one of those male dancers was particularly hot. It was as good a time as any for my daily self loving episode.

So I dry off, plug in Mr. Hitachi,and get going.

I was having a blast, my arousal moving from a 3 to about a 6 in only a few minutes. And then… a rather angry banging on the door.

I looked over at my beloved BlackBerry (perpetually on silent) and see it lighting up. I swore loudly realizing it was Gus at the door.

The downstairs lock had been changed recently and I never bothered to cut him a copy of the new key because he was moving out in a couple of weeks anyway.

I pick up the phone to yell at him that I’m coming down to let him in. I usually unlock the door right before I know he’ll be arriving but this time he was home a full hour early.

I got up, got dressed and put away my electronic lover before going to let him in.

Fuck!

I can’t even masturbate in peace anymore.

You know those blank out moments where one thought rapidly follows the other and you don’t
know how long you’ve been staring into space?

I know, I know. Who has time for such indulgences these days?

But every now and then I like to engage in a little brain wandering.

In any case, I remember thinking of male escorts somehow and given my
um… situation (or lack thereof rather) I started to really consider it.

I don’t mean consider it in the let-me-go-online-and-find-a-service
sense. But rather, many women just assume that it’s something they’d never
do and never give it a moment’s thought.

I was one of those.

Until I decided to explore it further.

Well what’s so bad about it I ask myself?

I really couldn’t come up with anything.

When I was younger and knew less of the ways of the world, I
assumed, like many of you I’m sure, that a woman would have to be
really desperate to pay for sex.

Dire straits indeed.

In my own considerations that was not the case. I have, as I’m sure many of you do, any
number of men I can call that would be more than willing to “break me off.”
In general, for women, getting laid is never the problem. There is always an abundance of
willing and able partners.

However what afflicts me, (and I’m sure many others have the same affliction) is a certain particularity
when it comes to whom we allow to part the folds. Entry to our sacred space must ever be negotiated,
and therein lies the challenge.

So, seeing as how we negotiate sex anyways, whether blatant or implicit (but seldom really get what
we want in spite of such negotiations) why not get excatly what we are looking for?

Enter male escort.

I love male company. I love it in small doses.

I do not want a man in my life at present. I’m in no hurry to be back
on a leash.

I would like, however, some one or ones to warm the sheets
every now and then.

Finding said ones however is a task fast proving far more difficult than I
expected.

In our great Society, the one of instant gratification, when one
wants something, one can usually just go out and get it.

If I had a few hundred or thousand dollars to play with then why not
treat myself to the exact company I want? One ordered according to my
specifications. I tap danced for a man for the last year. Why should I not
control the strings for a little while? Anywhere else you can have
exactly what you want, made to order. So I ask you, what is so wrong with
me dialing up an intelligent, funny, extremely attractive man, who’s
sole objective is to cater to my every sexual whim? One whom I can,
without guilt or pretense, send home afterwards?

Nothing.

Except maybe the price tag(the price, monetary or otherwise, is always
too high isn’t it).

As it were, I’d rather buy shoes.

Or vibrators (I’ll need them).

The breakup saga will follow at a later date but first, an observation.

I have a libido.

Let me clarify here.

Having a libido, and a healthy one at that, has never, ever been my problem.

Until recently.

The relationship, and that’s how I’ll refer to it for now, was a hard one. Stressful and contentious pretty much from start to finish.

And in these last few months of it, my libido has all but disappeared. That isn’t in itself a surprise because we spent a good deal of time fighting.

Who wants to fuck when you’re fighting all the time?

I mean I know some people are into that, but not me.

Anyway it got to the point where I was really beginning to think something was wrong with me. Even all my friends seemed really concerned that my interest in sex had waned so much.

I tried changing my diet, getting more sleep, watching more porn, and whatever else I could think of but I could not bring myself to want to fuck my boyfriend.

Then he’d complain about the lack of sex and that would lead to more fights.

I know now of course, that the problem lay not in my diet, or sleep patterns or lack of attention to my porn collection but in him.

Well, in us.

It’s difficult, if not impossible, to muster any feelings of desire when you’re furious all the time. Or alternating between furious and intensely annoyed.

And so after much consideration and soul searching and second guessing and advice seeking, I dumped him.

And, I kid you not, the very minute the last of his things left my apartment, my libido returned in full force.

Oh the joy!

I can’t even concentrate on work, I’m thinking about sex so much. Any day now one of my coworkers is going to file a harassment complaint against me.

I could cry with relief.

Except…

Now I don’t have anyone to have sex with.

Ain’t that just a bitch?