He was living in my house and everything seemed perfect, but he was three years younger and had had an epiphany that he still wanted to travel the world. It was predictable. It was painfully unoriginal. I was crushed. I needed sex. I needed skin-to-skin contact and the rush of flirting.
I work a office job for a marketing company in Brighton, which did little to get my mind off my loneliness, so I downloaded all the dating apps. But it felt hopeless. Casual dating in your mid-twenties is exhausting enough, but on the cusp of your thirties? There were the men I was stuck in perpetual pen pal status with, who ghosted me as soon as I applied the pressure to actually meet up. Really, why is this a thing? There were the men who turned up to dates looking nothing like their profile.
There were others I knew I had zero sexual chemistry with from the moment we locked eyes. I felt defeated. These apps only caused me distress and one-night stands were hardly worth the next morning awkwardness on the pleasure front. It seemed so. Four months after the breakup, my friend convinced me to take a look at the escorting site Envvy. Later that night, I tucked myself up in bed, vibrator at the ready for another Saturday night of solo masturbation, and paused.
I decided have a quick browse of the escorting site instead. Obviously, I was curious. Photos ranged from mirror selfies in their underpants, to professionally edited photos that spoke of experience. Abs were plentiful.
Could I follow through with this? Albeit in the wildest way possible. He was 6ft 4inch with abs you could grate a slab of granite on, never mind block of cheese. His face was nice enough and his smile friendly β if it was actually his.
