A lot of men have used the services of an escort. But not many men really know an escort. It turns out that, believe it or not, we’re a lot like most other women. That’s right, we’re real, (almost) normal girls! If you’ve ever been interested in seeing past the (very) sexy veneer of an escort, spend a little time here on my blog. My stories — and those of a few of my working girl friends — will take you inside the life of escorts.
For An Escort, Friends Are …
Every now and again somebody does something that makes you realize just how lucky you are. I am talking about friends.
I have the most wonderful friends ever who have stood by me through thick and thin. When I have been down or needing support they have literally been my rock and held my hand through the dark times and into the light. It is actually amazing to know that we can all do acts of kindness that change the way a person thinks and feels about their life.
As an escort, it can be hard to confide in many people for the fear of being judged or ridiculed, so many of us keep something back and aren’t able to talk freely about our daily lives. That’s probably why working girls usually end up hanging around other women in the same profession. Me, I’ve been to Europe many times and when I’m in Zurich or any other city in Switzerland I can always be found out and about with a couple of Swiss escorts from the Swiss Babe Finder escort agency I’ve gotten close to.
I’m also lucky enough to have the best friends (a married couple) who have not only been supportive with some problems I had around Christmas but also who have been fantastic company and we have shared lots of laughs together too.
A true friend is certainly someone who gets out of bed at 6 am to come over and help you pack when you’re moving and even brings bubble wrap!
We are all so bogged down with daily life that we sometimes forget to take stock and say “thank you for being my friend”.
True friends are hard to find, if we have nothing else in life other than true friends we are enriched in a way money, material goods or even other relationships do not give us.
Porn Apps And Self-Worth
She sat looking out of the window of her home office. The rain would come in spurts, a downpour one minute and then to a drizzle. Condensation weighed down the branches of the bushes right outside. Amazing how nature could so closely reflect her moods. How did she get here? Moments of euphoria followed by depths of sadness. But most time spent in a numb state. Not really feeling, sometimes not even really seeing. Just existing.
None of this was remotely reflective of the woman she wished she was, the woman she’d see in her head when she pictured her best self. No, that woman was bold and well dressed, confident and articulate at all times. A role model to women everywhere. She was intellectual with a human side, kind to those who may have otherwise been intimidated by her. Her laughter was like music and every day was a new and great adventure.
Funny, she mused to herself. It is interesting how you can want so much so passionately and still feel stuck. It was as if her feet were glued to the ground and no matter how much her spirit tried to lunge forward, she was just stuck. What was it, she wondered. What is that magical “thing” that frees someone to live out loud? Why do some people seem so bold, so fearless? Why do they even seem spectacular in their failures?
But such thoughts made her head hurt and brought forth even more self-doubt. She was caught in a debilitating cycle. Her insensitive man had been talking about finding the best porn app out there, so he could experience the joy of viewing sex at any time on his mobile phone. He didn’t even have a clue how talking about porn so excitedly made her feel. She was complicated and felt that it would take some strange combination of a thousand factors to make her happy. He, on the other hand, just needed a great mobile porn app on his phone and he was set for life.
Feeling better meant making moves, but fear and anxiety kept her paralyzed. What would she do, what could she do? Could she grab hold of the proverbial walker and will her spirit to just take one small dragging step forward? Which was worse, falling or standing still?
She looked in the full-length mirror in her hallway. She had carefully put together the pieces of her outfit for today and in her minds eye it looked awesome. Right up until she looked in the mirror. Somehow the clothing faded to the background and flaws were glaring back at her. So much so that it was painful to look at herself any longer.
‘What happened?’, she cried in her spirit. “Why do I have such a hard time with this?”
She calmed herself and truly began to look inside. Back to elementary school first. Being the first in her class to develop was a cruel reality. Teased by the boys and taunted by the girls. As if developing breasts and hips made her “loose”. She wished she could hide all of it, just bury it all away. Just be normal like the other girls. But she wasn’t. And those rumors followed her to middle school. She had to learn to fight because the boys would always try to touch her, treating her like some kind of porn star. God forbid some popular girl’s boyfriend try to corner her. She would always be the one to take the blame. And thus the love-hate relationship with her body began.
She was almost comforted when she gained weight after becoming a mother. It rendered her invisible to those who would chase her down simply because of her figure. But then a new breed of jerk surfaced. The guy who thought he was doing her a favor by liking her.
“Because, you know, a big girl should feel honored to have attention. Well you know girl, you got some slamming boobs and thick thighs. But you ain’t all that in the face.” Really?
She rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. She was blessed now to be beyond the scum at the bottom of the dating pool. But even though new skin had long since grown in place, the scars were still there under the surface.
As much as she tried to dress it up, her soul was still raw and exposed. And so she avoided the mirror because it was like picking the wound all over again.