SamanthaEvans

Hear, hear!! I don't work most weekends. Occasionally, I'll see one client, but that's rare. I feel like those are my days off. I can stay up late and then sleep in. I don't have to do laundry. I usually don't wear makeup--better to let my skin take a break and just breathe, I figure. Having time to focus on my home, my son and myself, as well as my friends, makes me feel balanced. It also makes me much more eager to see my clients on Monday!

Too energetic? Far from it! Though lots of guys in their 20s climax really fast and think it's over since they got what they came for. Like Suzirider said, they tend to think "me" rather than "we." I rarely see men in their 20s because I'm in my 40s and find we don't have so much in common. The other thing is, frankly, men your age in my experience are far more likely to make appointments and then neither cancel nor show up. Quite a lot of those who've done this to me have defended their behaviour, saying that their time is important, was needed for something else, as though my time wasn't. Some have said that they don't feel that an escort should expect more! Amazing. They've also been offended by my policy of not seeing anyone who stands me up like that unless they pay for the meeting in full, in advance. Others' mileage may vary.

Thank you. I do appreciate the empathy and support. It means a lot! I am okay. This was a couple of weeks ago, and it hasn't been upsetting me in terms of interrupting my thoughts, making me anxious or making it feel different to do what I do in my work or my non-work life. I don't lose sleep over it, thankfully. He's not worth it! I really take this as a heads-up, a reminder that even careful screening and quite a few repeat engagements, it's important to be on my guard a little bit. If I hadn't been in his home, this wouldn't have happened. I've been very hesitant about seeing clients in their homes. This will make me more cautious. Not a bad thing, at all, really. The great majority of the men that we see are more sensitive and in tune with us than this guy proved to be. The caution we have with each other--companions and clients--is understandable. Fortunately for all of us, it's not often that we find we were right to be so concerned.

I like the flavoured ones, too, Mandalay, but they're significantly more likely to break during intercourse. They're great for oral, though!

Wow. So lenient! I'd have thought that 20 might just balance out the damage done. Surely it takes 40 or 60 to establish clear boundaries? just trying to be helpful...

Thanks, Emma. I'm not going to see him again. I wouldn't be able to get past what happened, and I'm sure he'd bring it up again to see if I'd do it. He'd continue to offer significant payment, too, as though that was the only thing that matters. To be perfectly honest, while I know that this is not a boundary I can ever cross myself, I don't know what I think about some of it. The dog was licking the sheet, where I'd been laying. He had a full erection. I don't know how he got there--maybe he came into the room by himself, the way a pet often does. Maybe my client called him in while I was in the shower. What I am convinced of, though, is that if I'd laid down on the bed and spread my legs, the dog would have licked me without being forced to do it. Now, is it coercing the dog to give him access to a woman, like that? The other thing I'm sure of is that the one who was being coerced most was me, by an equal--an adult man, not too much older than I am. It wasn't just the suggestion he made, but the fact that he's much bigger and far stronger than I am; he was holding my wrist and didn't let go; I was in his house where no one could help me; and even though I think it was obvious that I was unnerved by his request and by the dog remaining not just in the room but also on the bed, he still wanted a farewell blowjob. That he would offer me $5-10K when I'd already refused was also extremely coercive. I've never had a client offer to pay me more to do something once we've actually met. I've received some nice tips and some lovely gifts, but not as incentives to cross a boundary. I don't see the ones who write to me and ask for services I don't offer.

All condom advertisers say that theirs is the thinnest, most comfortable, the least like wearing one, the most pleasurable. They never include the YMMV (Your Mileage May Vary) note. I offer a wide selection of condoms. Different people like different things. Unless the client tells me he wants something specific, I tend to judge on the basis of his size. Men who are large prefer large-fitting condoms. Sometimes, a man who is more average, or even a little bit smaller, likes a large-fitting condom, claiming that the extra room around the corona increases sensation for him. I'm also willing to use a female condom, especially with men who are particularly large. I'm happy with whatever the client wants to wear, but I only use condoms I provide myself. That's for my safety. I know that my condoms haven't been stored in a car's glove compartment in the heat or bitter cold. I know that they haven't been tampered with accidentally or on purpose. I know what they're made of and that they don't have Non-oxy9 added to the lubricant (it tastes terrible, numbs my mouth and is likely to increase the risk of STI transmission). If a prospective client has a particular preference for a specific brand or style of condom, I'd be happy to know that when he books the appointment. If available, I'll make sure to have some.

Does SHE know that you consider her to be your "future wife"? Frankly, this looks like a train wreck in the making....

I love toys too! My favourite vibe is the Eroscillator. I've had mine for about five or six years, and it's still going strong. I use it a LOT, too! It's totally silent, which is a big plus, anywhere. It plugs in, and the cord is really long. I've never been anywhere that I couldn't plug it in and use it easily. I use a set of Smart Balls a lot of the time when I'm doing ordinary, non-work things. Shopping, cooking, housework, going for a walk. My kegels were just fine before I started using these, but I reckon I'll soon be able to crack walnuts... (just kidding!) A client recently gave me one of these. It's the Silky Touch Remote Contol Egg. It's silent. It has seven vibrating, pulsing settings and it will cycle through increasing speeds... It's devastating--a nice, slow build-up to something truly incredible, in public, in private, etc. Just don't wear this while driving. LOL

Good question! I really enjoy spending time with my son. Sometimes we go out, even just for coffee or a walk. Sometimes we play a game together. We talk a lot, about all kinds of things--whatever's on his mind, really. I'm in Vancouver. This time of year until sometime in October, I often go and walk by the ocean at Jericho Beach, sometimes along the seawall, especially on nice, sunny days. I like to cook, so a trip to Granville Island for good, fresh food is a great way to unwind for me. When it's really rainy or dull, I might take a book with me and go out to a coffee shop where I can curl up and settle in for a nice long time.

Awww.... Suzirider! Being able to afford to meet with me doesn't mean that your money comes from an ill-gotten source! (I'm teasing you!) I'm not traumatized by this. I wasn't hurt. I wasn't forced to do anything I didn't want to do. I said no, and I left. He didn't prevent me from going. I don't want to forget what happened. To me, it's a reminder that, even when I think I know someone pretty well--at least for the purposes of our involvement--I may not. It also reminds me that some men think that paying for a lady's time and company includes paying for her spirit, for the core of her being. Most men aren't like that. But some, even some who seem to be good ones, do think this way.

Thank you, all of you. Thanks, too, to the folks who've written to me privately to say much the same things. I'm happy with the way I handled it. I was afraid. I've never been afraid of, or with, a client before. Women aren't safe in private homes, including their own, if those places are separate enough from other homes. No one can hear you call for help. That's why domestic violence is so difficult to get away from. I don't usually go to clients' homes, buI felt I knew him well enough. I'd been there once before and we'd had a lovely time together. I don't think he'd planned this incident, but it clearly turned him on. He was so easy about it, too, as though this was something that most women would do, given a bit of encouragement. I've never given him a reason to think that I was interested in doing this and he'd never raised the subject. I debated with myself about writing and posting this story. I decided to do it because it feels important to me to be very emphatic about a couple of things. First, this was the seventh date I'd had with this client. All of them had been terrific. I felt we had a rapport from the very beginning. I was comfortable with him. He treated me with respect and I felt valued and appreciated. He always booked three to five hours with me, which was great not just because of what I earned, but because it was easy to enjoy his company in and out of bed and because I felt he enjoyed me just as much. The second thing I want to say is related to the first. We need always to remember that we are real people in a fantasy world we create with and for the client. I can be your instant girlfriend, your mistress, your second wife, secretary, neighbour, confidante, counsellor--whatever you want. But when you touch me, the real me--the woman behind Samantha--feels it and responds. I don't pretend anything. Samantha's warmth, affection and generosity are mine. Unless I can have real feelings, this profession will harden and kill my spirit. My point is: when you meet with me, you get a genuine woman. I won't see this client again. I feel sad about that because I liked him but, in the end, he saw me as a puppet who would do anything he wanted if he paid me enough to do it.

Is this where I point out that I'm not the Sam-I-Am Sam? Though I am Sam. I am! And I have done it in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train. And in a car. And in a tree. It's all so good, so good, you see!

I remember, now... you're the one who ISN'T getting spanked a lot these days, right? :-P

I've had that, too. I also declined. I don't mind being asked. I do mind feeling coerced and cornered, though.

Well, said, Dummpy! Terber, the time you spend with a paid companion is for you. It's about you, what you want, what you want to feel, how you want to do it. You don't have to please anyone but yourself. (Of course, if you do, you'll likely be given even more pleasure, too, but I'm sure you know that!) And no one will ever know what you do with whom unless you tell them!

I am soooo tempted to remind the men that trying to reach a goal quickly can be an ultimately unhappy experience.... but I'll behave. For now. :shock:

Part 2: WARNING: contains slightly disturbing references to bestiality. I drive to B?s house. (B is not his real initial. Indeed, all the initials in these accounts have been changed, as have all identifying details.) I?ve been here once before. I?ve seen B about six times, three in hotels, twice at my place, and once here. I park the car and walk up to the house. I can hear B?s dog?a huge, shaggy animal that looks to be part Newf, part German Shepherd?barking. B opens the door before I reach it. The dog comes out and jumps up, briefly resting his huge forepaws on my shoulder. I take a step back, moving his paws out of the way to drop back onto the ground. ?Down!? I say, firmly, pressing the flat of my hand on the top of the dog?s nose. He stands still, looking sheepish. ?I forget that you grew up with dogs,? B says. I nod. ?It?s okay,? I say. B puts the dog back inside and then we leave in his car for the restaurant. When we get there, he hands me a plain white envelope and I put it in my bag. We go in and have a nice meal?not fancy, but good Mediterranean food, well-prepared. I feel very relaxed and comfortable with B. We?ve had some great times together without any strain or nervousness between us. This evening is no different. The conversation is great, the food is just fine, we have a bottle of wine with the meal. Out in the parking lot, he pulls me close and kisses me deeply before he opens the car door for me. We go back to his house. What happens next is slow and delicious. When we?re undressed, he cuffs my wrists together. ?My turn tonight,? he says, laying me down on the great, wide bed. He teases and torments me. He takes me to the peak but won?t release me. I?m on fire, licked by flames. I?m flowing like a river. I?m yearning to fly. I?m a captive, weighted to the earth, despairing. And then we are two eagles, clinging together, coupling in the air. He flips me over and fills his hands with my hair. I become the mare, mated by the proud, wild stallion until we both collapse, panting and giddy. A little bit later, I take a quick shower and begin to dress in the bathroom. When I come back into the bedroom, B is lounging on the bed. The dog is up on the bed, licking the sheet. I stare for a moment, stunned. B reaches for my hand and pulls me closer to the bed. ?He loves it,? he murmurs quietly. ?See what you do to him? Just like you do to me, eh? That?s some cock he?s got, there.? I can see the dog?s response, too, but I don?t like this. I shake my head dumbly. I start to lean back, just a little, and B?s hand tightens around my wrist. ?His tongue, Sam. Wouldn?t you love to ride his tongue? I bet its better than mine.? His voice is deep and smooth. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I?m a big girl, but at about 6? 5? and close to 300 pounds, B is half again my size. I?m soft and curvy; he?s all muscle. The dog looks to be close to my size. I look from one to the other and start to say, ?No,? but my heart seems to be lodged in my throat, now and the sound is too quiet. I clear my throat. ?No,? I say, more firmly. B continues to hold my wrist. ?Lay down, Sammy,? he sings the joke he started when we were together the first time, echoing Clapton. ?Rest here in my arms?? ?No, B,? I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ?Had enough?? he chuckles. ?Yes,? I nod. ?I?ve had enough, tonight.? But he doesn?t let go of my wrist. I try to keep my breath even and steady, to push the panic away so that I can think carefully. ?I need to get home, B. It?s late, you know.? I speak in an even tone, or so I hope. He looks up at me and smiles. There?s not a trace of menace in that smile. He pulls the sheet away from his groin to show me he?s hard again and he pulls my hand. ?Come on, girl, give me a bit more of your special attention, won?t you?? I?ve always done this before leaving. But the dog is still here and I don?t want to be crouching there on the bed. ?It?s late, B,? I say again. ?Another time, okay? I need to go home, now.? He lets go of my wrist and stands up. Just as he reaches for me, I lean to pick up my bag, and then I leave the room. He follows me to the front door. ?You upset, Sam?? he asks, softly, so tenderly, almost sadly. I look at him, clear-eyed, not upset, I hope. ?No, B. It?s just late and I?m tired.? He laughs and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close and giving my bottom a squeeze. ?Okay. That?s better. That?s my good girl, Sam. Good girl, Samantha. Next time, then.? I step away from him, shaking my head as I open the door. I?m so relieved when he doesn?t try to stop me. The door opens easily. ?No, B. That?s not? I can?t do that.? I try to keep from stammering. He chuckles softly and I know he?s not really listening to what I say, or at least he?s not taking me seriously. There?s a lot to this ?no? that he doesn?t understand and I feel sad about that. ?Five thousand, Sam,? he says warmly, as though he was bargaining with me to get me to jump off the diving board. ?I think that?s generous. You don?t have to go down on him, just let him have you. You?ll like it, darling. The tie?I know you?ll cum forever then.? He reaches out and twines a lock of my hair around his finger. ?Better idea: ten thousand if you let me film it. You can wear a mask.? I don?t say anything. I step out onto the porch. ?Think about it, okay? Next time, just say ?five? or ?ten? and I?ll know. That?s all you have to say. I?ll take care of the rest. Tell me you?ll think about it?? ?I will,? I say. ?I will think about it, B. But now, I?ve got to go home.? I walk away. I try not to run. I get in the car, fasten the seat belt, and leave. A few blocks away I break into a cold sweat. I pull over for a few minutes and breathe slow, even breaths. Then I drive home. Even when we think we know the client, we don't.

This is long. I don't have time to write less, unfortunately! I'll divide it into two parts, though. Part I: WARNING: contains extensive references to the dietary wishes of a teenage male. Up at 7:40, again, and the day starts as usual. But things are a little more relaxed because I’m not seeing any clients until this evening. I linger over breakfast and read the paper online. 10:00 The chiropractor works on my neck and shoulders while I lie on a bench for my regular, every other week, adjustment. I was thrown from a few horses a few times too many when I was in my 20s and the legacy lingers on. Actually, it’s not the being thrown part that’s the problem. It’s the landing. 11:00 I’m at the hairdresser’s, having a lovely time with J. Our personalities mesh very nicely over our serious discussions about my hair. She trims away split ends and re-layers everything beautifully. I’m a bit vain about my hair, to be honest, and very picky about who can do things to it. Unfortunately, J. is having a baby soon and is going to be off for the next year. I’m going to need a new hairdresser but I haven’t been looking for someone else yet. 1:00 at MAC cosmetics on Robson Street, I replace a few things that need to be replaced, and find a couple of new things, then engage in a protracted evaluation of the relative merits of this shade of lipstick over that one, finally choosing something different from both. The girl who helps me tells me that X, who, she informs me, is one of Vancouver’s top escorts, bought this very shade just a few days ago. I nod slowly: I know who she’s referring to, but I don’t say so. She goes on to say how gorgeous this woman is, how she only wears MAC, and how awesome it must be to do that kind of work. She assures me that X really escorts men various places and doesn’t actually have to have sex with them, which she thinks would be “very creepy,” anyway. “I mean, imagine,” she says, “these guys, what? They walk into your place, hand you some money and a few minutes later, they’re doing you!” “Are you scandalized, or excited by that?” I ask playfully, laughing with her. A tiny frown appears on her brow for a brief moment. “Well, it might be a little bit interesting, sometimes. Who hasn’t thought of that?” she shrugs. “But really, everyone knows that you’ve got to have a back-up plan because by the time you’re 30, you’re finished.” Her nod is emphatic. “It’s hard enough to look perfect when you’re young, but when you get older and your looks are going? Men,” she leans a bit closer to me, “don’t pay older women.” She rolls her eyes a little bit, but it’s hard to know whether that’s in reference to the men, or to the women who might think about being paid by them. I nod slowly enough that she might think I agree with her. 3:20 After picking up the dry cleaning and buying some groceries, I’m back at home. A few minutes later, my son arrives. He brings in the groceries and puts them away. “There’s nothing to eat,” he complains theatrically. I sigh as tragically as possible. “Poor boy! Nothing to eat but vegetables, meat and cheese, not to mention eight litres of milk and Raisin Bran™ cereal with extra raisins. How will we survive?” “It’s terrible,” he moans as he slumps against the kitchen counter. “I’m growing. I need lots of extra food. But is there any food? No!” he shakes his head, almost heartbroken. “Just pretend food. Food that isn’t real food yet! We need chemicals! We need preservatives! We need trans-fats! Extra salt! Sugar, too! But the person who bought groceries left out these essential ingredients.” He appears to be grief-stricken yet trying to bear up manfully. I open the kitchen cupboards and peer into each one, slowly. “Alas!” I say, trying to be deploring. Trying not to laugh. “Not a bag of chips, not a single chocolate bar, not a package of cookies in sight!” “Don’t forget the Froot Loops™! There are no Froot Loops™!” he adds, in horror. I fall out of character and laugh so hard I have to hold onto the counter to keep from doubling over. When I recover, I reach for the new loaf of 12-grain bread. “Care for a sandwich, love?” I ask in my best June Cleaver style. “Depends. Is it the good kind of peanut butter or the other one?” “Nothing but the best, for you,” I say, reaching for the jar. He pours a glass of milk. Tomorrow is Saturday. He’ll finish off the first four litres of milk by mid-afternoon, I predict. I hand him a plate with his sandwich cut into neat triangles, one large and two small. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you going to ask geometry questions, now?” he says in a warning tone. I shake my head. He takes a bite of the sandwich and rocks back in his chair, clutching his throat. “Mom! You’re gonna kill me! This is the bad peanut butter!” Gagging sounds ensue. I look at the label on the jar. “No, hon, this is the one without the icing sugar, hydrogenated palm oil and maltodextrin. Nothing but peanuts in this peanut butter.” “I tell you, this healthy stuff kills people, Mom,” he says darkly. But he eats the whole sandwich. I go and take a shower, wash my hair and get dressed, ready for my date with my client.

Awww, Sputy! No sex? In a whole day? What kind of day is that? LOL If you'd been in Vancouver....

I don't do it, though like everyone else, I've had offers. When I was younger, I was "kept" by a man for over a year. He paid the rent and utilities, and was generous about some extras. In return, he had my company and FS 4-6 times a month. We agreed on the dates and times ahead of time, something like every Wednesday from 5:00 to 9:00 and maybe a couple of lunchtime quickies as options. It worked. We liked each other. I was in university and it make it possible for me to be there full-time. Now, though, it just seems easier, clearer and that there's less potential trouble to pay for things myself. But if someone would like to lease a car for me.... Or the downpayment on a condo or townhouse, with partial ownership, etc.... PM or e-mail me! :grin:

I understand your energy and I appreciate the concern and care that's behind it, Sputy, but I'm not in favour of legislating and regulating this profession. Decriminalizing it, yes. But I don't want the government to have more control over whether, how or where I work, which is what I'd be concerned would happen.

I agree with everything that's been said. I just want to add that, if you're a smoker, you'll know that you can't smoke when I'm with you, whether in my home or in a hotel. If you smoke, though, it's particularly important to have a very good shower and be clean all over, instead of mostly focusing on the special places. Smokers' skin and hair often taste smokey and the press of your smokey body against mine transfers that smoke to me, to the bedding, to my hair and my clothing--to everything. I shower after every appointment, and I change the bedding, so this isn't to avoid doing that. My point is that I can't escape the scent and taste of the smoke, at all, and that's not pleasant for me.

Are you likely to take a room in this place again, say in a couple of months? Because, if you are, you might consider writing the review that gives the merits of the place, but deducts a star or two for the mattress. Then, go back in a couple of months. If the mattress is better, review and report on that, increasing the points you give. People will be warned, it's true. But the hotel might do a lot better after they improve the mattresses and you report it. I'd definitely consider staying in a place that had responded to this kind of critique and received a better review because of it.

Thank you for bringing this experience to the boards, Mandalay.