I love having sex with beautiful people. There. I said it.
Do you think I’m superficial?
You might be right.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t only sleep with super-sexy muscle marys or model-grade twinks, but I unashamedly worship at the alter of physical beauty. The laptop that I sit at typing right now has a stream of wallpapers and screensavers featuring beautiful men in various states of undress. My coffee table is adorned with books celebrating male beauty. My porn of choice is always that which features impossibly hot men, none of that “real guys having real sex” bollocks. I could go to any old club darkroom if I wanted to see that. For me it’s all about the fantasy, and when an opportunity presents itself to make that fantasy reality, I grab it with both hands.
So you can imagine my excitement when I found myself chatting to a very attractive porn star on Grindr one particularly uninteresting day last week. He is not a big star – I had never heard of him (although I have since looked up some of his work) – and he seemed a nice, genuine guy. I was especially surprised because at the time I was in a small town an hour or two from London – not the place you expect to find such a person.
He told me that he was also an escort and would be interested in doing me a deal, since he was very horny and rather desperate to get fucked by a hung guy (did I mention that I am bigger than average?)
His offer pricked my curiosity. I had always considered the possibility of sleeping with an escort but had never gone further than browsing the back pages of Boyz and QX. And here was a guy, incredibly hot, just my type, offering to fulfil my fantasies on what would have otherwise been a boring evening in cheap hotel. All of this at a rate that I would never get back in London.
I went for it.
Greeting me at his door, it became clear that his Grindr picture did not do him justice. This man was beautiful. I mean, completely beautiful. With an incredibly handsome face, dark eyes, all-over tan and a body that was gym-toned to perfection. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Abercrombie and Fitch sweat pants. It didn’t take me long to shake off my initial nerves, not least because he was just as friendly in person as he had been chatting to me on Grindr. We headed straight upstairs and got undressed in a flash, and yes it was as good as I had hoped. An already semi-hard very large cock, and the one of the nicest, most toned bums I have ever seen. I am rather partial to a nice bum.
Pretty soon I had him doing exactly what I wanted. “Yes, I do want you in the shower with me!” “Now turn over”. “This isn’t working for me, lets change”. Having that control and being able to have it exactly how I wanted it was incredibly hot. We did it in every position I could think of.
Yet, the whole time I had something niggling at the back of my mind. Something that made the whole experience seem somehow hollow, empty, false. Don’t get me wrong, he was very good at seeming enthusiastic, and I do genuinely think he was enjoying himself – his cock was certainly rock-hard the whole time and he came pretty quickly when I instructed him to. But occasionally he would take it a little too far, turning on his porn star training and oo-ing and arr-ing just a little too much.
When it was all over he was once again a pleasant and friendly guy, asking if I wanted another shower. Yet once money had changed hands (he didn’t ask for it upfront, which surprised me) there was something in his voice and body language that said he wasn’t up for small talk. He was in no way rude or abrupt, but it reinforced the feeling that this had been a cold, hard transaction and nothing more. Not that I was expecting love in the afternoon, but I think part of the joy of sex, even when it is random and anonymous, is that you are being pleasured and at the same time bringing pleasure to another human being. It is a shared experience.
Today I had another anonymous Grindr encounter and I couldn’t help comparing it with my experience with the escort. Was the guy hot? You bet. Was he hotter than the escort? No way. Was the sex better? Absolutely. There was a physical connection between the two of us, a mutual attraction, a shared joy at the pleasure that we were giving each other, and that shared pleasure was the sole reason for us being in that room together. No material or financial benefit to be had.
I actually have a lot of respect for escorts. They use an asset that has been bestowed upon them by genetics, or that they have attained through dedicated health and beauty regimes, and they sell that commodity to a market that craves it and is willing to pay for it. As for whether I would use one again – I would never say never. I still worship at that alter of beauty, and that craving for beauty may pull me in again the next time I find myself with a spare hour and a spare few pounds. But on the other hand perhaps it would be best if the men in those books on my coffee table stayed fantasies, except for those rare occasions when the fantasy is one that we can share.
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