Is it weird or pathetic to book a gigolo?

I don’t fake it, and the reason is simpler than a nice promise: I can say no. I don’t take a date I don’t feel like, and that’s exactly why, when I say yes, I don’t have to play a part. Anyone who takes every booking has no choice but to act.

What attractive means here is different from what you’re probably picturing, by the way. It sits far more in how someone talks, laughs and dares than in how she looks. After twenty-five years I know that pretty surely, and it’s also why I never ask for a photo before we’ve talked.

If you’re in doubt about this, just say so during the first call. Then you’ll have a sense right away of how honestly someone answers.

Mostly what I hear is relief, and surprise that it was so ordinary. The shame almost always sits beforehand, in the weeks of doubting and reading and clicking away again. It usually fades within the first hour, somewhere between the first drink and the moment it turns out nothing has to happen.

What does sometimes show up: a dip a day or two later. Restless, sad, with no clear reason. That isn’t regret but a physical comedown after intense closeness, it’s called subdrop and it passes on its own. I tell you beforehand what to watch for, and you can just message me in those days.

Want to hear it from others instead of from me: it’s in their own words on Reviews.

No. And I know you expect that answer, so here’s the why: the women who book me run from their late twenties to well into their seventies, and there’s no size, age or body where I think “not her”. What makes an evening good is whether you dare to say what you want, and that has nothing to do with your reflection.

The worry itself is actually the most interesting part. Almost everyone who comes here has spent years looking at themselves through someone else’s eyes: an ex who said something, a magazine, a marriage that slowly went quiet. That voice is usually louder than reality.

You don’t have to believe me. You only have to ask a question.

No, quite the opposite. You’re choosing your own pleasure on purpose and arranging it yourself, and that isn’t weakness but strength. You pay for time and attention, and you do that in ten other places in your life without anyone batting an eye: at a hairdresser, a masseur, a coach. That this one is about intimacy makes it loaded, not pathetic.

Try it the other way around. Paying is more a compliment than something to be ashamed of. You’re saying with it that your pleasure is worth the trouble, that you make time and room for it. That’s exactly what women say more often afterward: it felt like arranging something for themselves, not like settling for less.

Paying also takes away the bargaining that does play a part at home or on a date. Nobody needs anything back, nobody keeps track of whose turn it is, and no return favor follows. The evening is about you, from start to finish.

The idea that intimacy is only real when it’s free doesn’t hold up. It’s just old. Choosing yourself, and daring to do that out loud, is the opposite of pathetic.

Then we stop, or we just stay put and talk. Crying happens more often than you think, especially with women who haven’t been touched for a long time: something comes loose that has little to do with that evening itself. It doesn’t startle me and I’m not going to try to fix it.

If you don’t want to go on, “stop” is enough. No explaining, no making up for it, no talking you round, and no awkward silence after. You paid for time, not for a performance, so there’s nothing to finish.

What happens next is up to you: talk more, tea, or say goodbye. Either way the aftercare keeps going in the days after.

Yes, and it’s exactly what I need to make the evening good. Whatever you ask, after twenty-five years I’ve almost certainly heard more often, and I’m not going to pull a face at it. The things women find hardest to say out loud are almost never the things I find strange.

If you find it hard to say, write it down and message it. Plenty of women do that, and it often works better than a conversation: you can adjust it calmly and send it when it suits you, with nobody watching you go red.

Three columns help: what you’d love, what’s allowed but not required, and what’s absolutely off limits.

Yes, and it’s literally the agreement: everything can be talked about, nothing has to happen. You don’t have to come, don’t have to act enthusiastic, and don’t have to push on just because you’ve paid. Want to stop halfway and only talk after that, we do that. Want to only lie against someone, that’s fine too.

That freedom works because there’s no audience. Nobody knows you’re here, nobody asks about it later, and there’s no version of yourself you have to keep up. That’s usually the moment women say something they never got out loud in their own bedroom in twenty years. Sometimes within the first ten minutes.

For ordinary women. That’s not me being nice, it’s simply who comes: teachers, nurses, people with a mortgage and a dog. The image of rich, worldly women who do this kind of thing comes from films.

What they do have in common is that they reached a point where waiting was no longer an option. After a divorce, after a loss, or after years in which something slowly disappeared without there ever being a fight about it. That isn’t a special type of person, that’s a special moment.

Everyone who comes here first thinks she’s the exception. That in itself should tell you something.

That you’re missing something and doing something about it. That’s all it says, however much your head wants to spin a whole story out of it.

The question itself almost never comes from a real judgment about yourself. It comes from the expectation that others would judge: your sister, your colleague, your ex. That’s a reaction to an audience that isn’t there and never will be.

In practice I see the reverse more often. It takes nerve to name what you want instead of hoping it sorts itself out, and most women who come here didn’t dare do that for years. That you’re asking the question is already the hardest part.

No, because I choose for myself. I don’t have to take a single date, and I don’t take them all either. That’s the only real guarantee you have, and it’s worth more than anything I could say to reassure you.

What does happen: not every evening is equally special, for either of us. Sometimes it clicks straight away, sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes it just stays pleasant without sparking anywhere. That isn’t obligation, that’s how it goes between people.

If you want to test that, the first phone call is the best moment. You’ll hear more in it than in any page on this site.

We have no goal other than enjoying intimacy. Coming is never the assignment here, and arousal can’t be forced: the more you watch for it, the less it comes. That’s true for everyone, and certainly if you’re tense or haven’t felt it for a long time.

Because intimacy is about so much more than a peak. It sits in the attention and the time we take, and in being touched without anything being expected of you. A hand that stays resting on your back, a conversation that doesn’t have to go anywhere: that’s often where the most happens. An orgasm can be a lovely part of that, but it’s never the measure.

What does help is taking the pressure off beforehand. If we agree it doesn’t have to happen, it often comes easier than you expect. And if not, you’ve had an evening where you were touched and seen. That’s probably what it was really about for you.

Women, roughly from their early twenties into their sixties, from every corner of the country. It runs from very successful businesswomen and well-known names to women living on benefits. What they share isn’t their wallet but their timing: they’re at a point where they no longer want to wait for it to sort itself out.

From single women who want to enjoy themselves (again, or at last) to married women where nothing has happened at home for years and the conversation about it has stalled. And couples, where it was often her idea.

If you’re wondering whether you fit in: almost everyone asks that, and so far the answer has always been yes.

That can happen, and it’s not a disaster. Often it isn’t a click problem but tension, by the way: give it twenty minutes and a drink before you conclude anything about it. With almost everyone it settles once it turns out I’m in no hurry.

If it keeps grating, we stop, and then I only charge the costs actually incurred. Pushing on because it’s booked makes sense for no one.

Want to lower the odds of this, call or video-call beforehand and pay attention above all to whether the conversation flows on its own. That predicts more than photos, texts or anything else. How that conversation goes is described at The conversation.

No, and the question itself is already skewed. It assumes that buying intimacy is a second choice for the relationship you’re supposedly meant to be looking for. That’s not what this is about. One doesn’t replace the other.

Sometimes you do want the intimacy, but simply not a relationship: no time or wish to enter one and keep it going, with all the hassle that brings. Chasing a fling yourself isn’t it either, because that immediately brings the other person’s expectations into play. That isn’t a shortcoming, that’s a choice.

And sometimes it exists right alongside a relationship. It’s rarely a choice between the two. Most women who come here are also just looking for a relationship, or have just ended one, or specifically don’t want one for now. Arranging intimacy now rules nothing out later.

Then you say so, preferably right away. You’re not tied to anything just because you opened the door. If you notice it within the first half hour, I only charge the costs actually incurred and we part without fuss and without me taking it personally.

To prevent this, a video call beforehand is the best step. Photos tell you little about how someone moves, sounds and reacts, and that’s usually exactly where it falls apart. Five minutes of video calling says more than a whole photo gallery.

The reverse is allowed too, by the way: I’ll also say it if I think it isn’t going to work.

More and more psychologists actually recommend it. I’m a psychotherapist myself, and I see it among colleagues around me: a date with a gigolo gets recommended more often than warned against. What they find important is that you can set your boundaries well and that they’re genuinely listened to. The thinking behind it is simple. A good, new experience with a man who really listens and respects your boundaries, someone you’re allowed to enjoy without anything being required, sets right something that earlier experiences set crooked. An experience like that gives your body a new benchmark, and that’s where room appears to heal from what once felt bad.

Yes, and usually freer than you expect. With a partner there’s always a history on the table: last week’s argument still working through, the disappointment you’re trying to make up for, the worry about how it’ll be between you at breakfast tomorrow. And the quiet brake of what he thinks of you if you ask for something or dare to want something. With me all of that falls away.

What you get in return is that the attention goes entirely one way. You don’t have to take turns, nobody keeps track of whose turn it is, and it doesn’t have to end anywhere. You can ask for what you want without it lingering somewhere. No yesterday for a while, no tomorrow, just this.

That’s the unexpected part for many women: not the sex itself, but how much opens up once, for once, it doesn’t have to be about together. That very freedom brings up things that rarely come out at home.

Yes, that can happen, and it’s normal. Warmth, attention and touch stir up feelings; your body is built for that. Feeling a little in love or attached after intimate moments is human, not a mistake, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

At the same time it stays a professional date, and I’m always honest about that. By being clear about what is and isn’t possible, I protect your feelings rather than feeding them with false expectations. That also means I don’t keep up private contact outside of dates.

If it bothers you, say so. That conversation is a lot more ordinary than you think right now.

In practice it rarely happens that a date doesn’t go ahead, and never because of how someone looks; I couldn’t care less whether your eyes line up exactly or your nose sits dead center. Where it sometimes runs aground is a wish that doesn’t suit me. Then I’d rather refer you on than take on something I don’t stand behind, because I don’t find that fair to you.

Yes, and that’s also why I always have a thorough conversation before we move on to planning, to see whether it clicks on both sides. We only do something if we both want it. If either of us says no to something, we don’t do it. That’s full consent, and it holds for you just as much as for me. You may stop at any moment the whole evening, and I have that freedom too.