Sexy Times- Totally Not Depressing…

When I finally bit the bullet and booked my stay in Amsterdam, the promise I made to myself came creeping back into my mind. “If I find myself in Amsterdam…” I swore months earlier, back when everything was theoretical, “… I will indulge in hiring a hooker.”

In theory, there were a lot of reasons why I wanted to try it. I had been doing a lot of research about sex-work, and was writing a script about a sex-worker. I had also been considering hiring a sex-worker to have a threesome with my ex-partner and me at the time. (The idea was recommended to me by my sex therapist.)

When the idea shifted from theoretical to possible reality, I realized the enormous undertaking it was going to be (financially, physically and emotionally.) I knew I would have to be extremely confident in my decision, which would require some (dare I say) soul-searching.

I realized that my desires were deeper than what I initially thought. At first it might have seemed like a fun adventure, but it was the need to explore intimacy with a woman who, one, I was sexually attracted to; and two, didn’t have to worry about the mind-fucks that often accompany a sexual experience, like whether she “like-liked” me.

Once I knew that the desire to hire someone for sex exceeded any shallow reasoning (a good story, research for my script, etc.) and that, as a bisexual woman I wanted to explore a deeper need, the next step was to plan.

Of course, hiring a hooker wasn’t the only first experience I was putting myself through. I had never traveled to Amsterdam before, and I had never done a work-exchange before, which meant that the planning was rather nuanced. I was booked to stay at Ilma’s place for 7-days, which was an apartment on a beautiful lake about 30-minutes outside of the city. I knew that I would be working there, and vaguely what type of work I would be doing (walking the dog, cleaning the house, maybe some painting) but I didn’t know how much flexibility there would be in general. I didn’t know if it would be extremely weird or rude or inconvenient of me to, say, disappear for a night so I could book a hotel room and entertain a hooker in the city.

(I already knew at this point that, as strangely appealing as the Red Light District was, that I wouldn’t be able to knock on a window, negotiate a rate, and then sit in a sterile room as we… did the deed.)

So, the first step I took was preliminary: I Google’d “How to hire a hooker in Amsterdam.”

I perused the recommended agencies until I found Aurelia. She was different than the other women, who pursed their Eastern European lips, seducing you with their eyes. Aurelia was smiling and inviting… and very attractive. Most importantly, her profile said she was bisexual.

I spent the next week fantasizing about Aurelia, and on the train from Vienna to Salzburg, I decided to use the downtime to try the “chat” icon on the escort website and get more information.

A man named Eric immediately responded. I asked all the questions, like, “Are the girls really the ones in the pictures?” (Yes.) “Is Aurelia really bisexual?” (Yes.) “How does it work?” (Let us know the hotel/room number/name and date and we will reserve the time. We will confirm an hour ahead of time, and then send the driver to the girl.) I asked about STD’s and what the price includes exactly and basically every other question I could possibly think of so that I would know exactly what to expect.

After the discussion, I felt more confident, but I still didn’t have enough information to pull the trigger.

Finally, from Austria to Munich to Luxembourg to Brussels, my time in Amsterdam had come. It felt like every second was counting down to the moment when Aurelia would arrive in my soon-to-be-booked hotel room.

Luckily, Ilma was warm and the workload was light, and after proving to her that I was making an effort to be there for her, she was lenient and kept reminding me that I am a free person. Still, I was stressing. Not only was my phone just stolen in Brussels, I was feeling a little sick and extremely sensitive, which could only mean one thing… my period was coming. Time was ticking and I had to make decisions. I was willing my period to come immediately, so that maybe it would be over by my last night in Amsterdam. When that didn’t happen, I knew I had to take a risk and book as soon as possible. Still, I was too nervous.

That Friday, a friend had arrived from Naples and we met up in the city. What did I want to do that night? Walk around the Red Light District, of course!

When we first approached, it was startling. Women of all kinds stood or sat behind glass doors; some laid back with their feet up, lazily texting and scrolling on their phones; some smiling at passersby, beckoning them into the room; some giving attitude to potential clients; some opening the door to yell at a drunk person trying to snag a photo (big no-no.) Sometimes, you would catch a man exiting the room with his head down, as the woman behind the curtain checks herself in the mirror, brushing her hair.

The experience was a mixture of cringe-worthy and erotic. Yet, even being in the heart of it, as a woman trying to appreciate other women, I still felt a bit odd… like I was uninvited. It’s impossible to know, looking through the glass, whether that woman would welcome being appreciated by another woman or not. Regardless of the fact that I was admiring from afar, and much more respectfully than the masses of drunken men, I couldn’t help but look with hesitation.

Still, the after effect was quite strong. I felt more excited to proceed forward with my plans with Aurelia. That night, when I returned to Ilma’s, I divulged to my current flat-mates my plans, yearning for support and was happy to receive it. That night, instead of going to bed, I went on Booking.com and found a modest hotel room for Sunday evening. At the same time, I went on the escort website to make sure Aurelia was available. Now, it was a woman on the chat who said, “Yes, Aurelia is available.”

I finalized my hotel reservation.

Then, I returned to my chat, and one last time I asked her to make sure that Aurelia knew I was a woman, and skiiirrrtttttt… “That changes things.” Typed the woman on the other end. Apparently, super-straight Aurelia’s profile was out of date and she did NOT want to be with a woman and I was devastated! Especially chatting with the service weeks ago to confirm that she was, indeed, a bisexual. Men. SMH.

I was surprised by how rejected I felt. Especially after the night wandering around the Red Light District, I had to ask myself if I was an uninvited guest. Suddenly, I felt like a pervert. The woman on the chat sent me different options of women who were willing to be with a girl. There were three or four options on the entire site, and through my rejected lens, none of them struck me the way Aurelia had. I gave up for the night and fell into a fretful sleep.

The following day was Saturday, only one day before my nonrefundable hotel room, which meant only one day before I would (or would not) have my experience with an escort. I was on edge because my friend had went into a room with a Red Light Lady the night before and said his experience was rough… she haggled him for more money and ignored the agreed upon time, ending the experience as soon as she could (which for a professional, was apparently pretty quick.)

I began to get nervous that I would have a similar experience… that I would be met with a salty woman who did nothing but try and milk me for more money (which I certainly didn’t have! The financial decision to shell out for a cheap room and one-hour of “fun” was a huge investment for me already.)

I went back on the chat and looked over my limited options. Eventually, I was drawn to a beautiful blonde (Aurelia was brunette) who, even though she looked like she could eat me alive, the woman on the chat-line swore she was “nice.” (Yes- I asked which of my options was the nicest!) I finalized my reservation. I was all set for the following evening.

As you can imagine, the next day was tense for me. I went through the day trying my best to be in the moment, but really I was counting down the seconds until my reservation. I checked into my room with hours to spare, got a bite to eat and had a beer, then went back to the hotel and drew myself a bath. I had to calm my nerves, and so I spent the next hour fantasizing about the experience that was about to come. If I was turned on, then I wasn’t nervous… So I remained in a blurred state of sexually charged until 18:30 approached.

I got out of the tub, toweled off, put on my comfy clothes and switched to porn.

Finally, a knock on my door. I opened it nonchalantly and…

In all of my excitement and nervousness, I was utterly unprepared for one not-so-small detail, which was her not looking at all like the pictures. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was not the same girl from the pictures.

It should have been the most obvious thing to expect, but after talking to Eric (Fucking Eric) and being so stressed out about other aspects of hiring a hooker, I didn’t even think about that being a possibility. Not to mention, after perusing the Red Light District and witnessing the different types of attractive women, I figured the photos would be pretty accurate. The woman certainly wasn’t unattractive… but she was simply not my type, and instantly all of the build up and fantasizing I had been doing came to an abrupt halt.

After all, the entire idea behind hiring someone was that it would be someone I knew I was attracted to. My plan backfired on me, as I was more conflicted than ever. Was this my punishment for being shallow?

Not only didn’t she look like her pictures, I don’t believe that she was actually bisexual. I just think she was willing to go through the same routine to either sex because it made no difference to her.

She asked me what I wanted, but my rehearsed script had gone out the window because I no longer wanted the things I had spent hours (and weeks) fantasizing about. She suggested an erotic massage and I said, “Sure.” We both got naked and she proceeded to rub her breasts on my back, which neither massaged me nor turned me on…

In an attempt to get into it, I asked if I could touch her and she agreed, but the bored look on her face was not helping, so I stopped. Next, she performed oral on me and when that didn’t work, took out her handy-dandy vibrator to finish the job.

I was relieved when it was over. After putting clothes on, we talked a bit about Amsterdam, and she told me that she didn’t think the Anne Frank House was authentic, and that she didn’t really like Anne Frank because why should her story be told when there were so many other children who we will never know their names? (As if Anne Frank woke up one day and decided she wanted to become famous.)

Of course my hooker experience ended with a discussion about Anne Frank. Why wouldn’t it?

After she left, it’s an understatement to say that I was disappointed. Rather than having exciting memories that would help me out for months to come, I had the female equivalent to blue balls, and was the furthest thing from turned on that you could imagine.

The silver lining was the excuse I had to stay in a nice hotel room with Netflix. I finished Season Three of Glow, and sobbed my eyes out for the rest of the night, for thousands of reasons and for no reason at all.

The next morning I got my period.