As a single woman, casual sex is relatively easy to find. Pull out your phone, open any dating app and inevitably, there will be a list of eager guys bombarding you with the modern equivalent of courtship – a winky face and several praying hands emojis. When you want it, sex like an Uber, is there ready, willing and available at a moment’s notice.
So you’re probably wondering why any woman would pay a male escort? Well, there is the obvious – no strings attached loving with an out-of-your-league, hopefully generously-endowed (well, you are paying!) charming stud muffin. But, according to Reuben Coppa, CEO of Reude-vu, a new app that’s been dubbed “Uber for sex,” women also book male escorts for the most elusive thing in dating land – connection and emotional intimacy – and they’re willing to pay for it. “Boyfriend experiences are more about company and companionship and they tend to be longer appointments,” he said. ‘They will usually include dinner or a date as well as some alone time.”
Known as a BFE, the Boyfriend Experience is where you hang out doing regular things, catch a movie, or holding hands on a walk in the park. “Typically the boyfriend experience includes sexual intimacy,” says Coppa. “Often escorts will offer companionship only prices, which include kissing and cuddling without further intimacy.”
But what is it like having a paid companion? Fun? Weird? Awkward? Being a single woman, with a sense of adventure and in need of a cuddle, I decided to find out. The fact it was Mother’s Day came with a sense of dichotomous irony, not lost on me. That morning, Facebook threw up endless images of smiling, tired-eyed mothers snuggling up with their partners and adorable kids; I was single, so I was planning on making the most of it by inviting a male sex worker over for a snuggle. Yeah, I know, it’s just how I roll.
Boyfriend material?
Outside, the sky was the color of gray slate and the rain had started to fall in big fat drops, as I logged onto Rende.vu on my phone. A gallery of well-toned, desirous male and female flesh appeared in various states of undress as I scrolled through libidinous temptation. Picking a companion felt as if I was trying to decide on a flavor at Gelato Messina – they all looked tempting. However, if I was going to have a boyfriend for a few hours, I may as well select someone who was boyfriend material. Or at least, fantasy boyfriend material.
Then I happened across Ryan Ainsley’s profile. Dressed in a sharp cut blue suit in one photo, the next, showcased his torso that looked as if you could play the glockenspiel on his abs. He said that he couldn’t show his face, as he worked as a fitness model. His profile read that he was a thirty-five-year-old personal trainer with two degrees, who sometimes worked as a tradesman. Smart, hot and practical – I’ll take a double scoop with sprinkles on top. And like the best Uber drivers, he had a five-star rating from previous clients. “I love being an escort as I get a thrill from every job and always enjoy pleasing clients regardless of the fantasy or occasion,” he’d written. “Movies on a rainy day, suited up for dinner, or just straight up being naughty.”
It was raining, and I had Netflix; we were the perfect match. Plus he was Canadian, and his name was Ryan. You had to be movie star hot to have the confidence to select Ryan as your escort name, right? The app told me Ryan could be at my place within an hour and twenty minutes. With a sense of excitement, I booked him. Minutes later, the app told me he’d accepted and was preparing for our date.
Excitement rapidly turned to trepidation when the app informed me that a guy with an admittedly great torso was on his way to my house to pretend to be my boyfriend. But I hadn’t seen his head. Heads are important. What if head looked as if he’d played a hooker in a rugby team for 20 years? Then there was the question of what the hell I was going to do with a ‘boyfriend’? Would he be that much of a boyfriend that I could ask him to take out the overflowing recycling bin?
Coffee for two
An hour and fifteen minutes later, the buzzer squealed through my apartment making me jump. A guy with stupidly good bone structure and a sexy hint of stubble leaned into the camera of the videophone. He gave off a Ryan Gosling meets Ryan Reynolds in a dark nightclub and gives birth to a male escort called Ryan vibe. “Hey Lollie, it’s Ryan,” he said his accent all sorts of sexy, raspy Canadian Dry, as I buzzed him in. As I opened my front door, there he was dressed in skinny black jeans and a tight gray T-shirt, with two coffees. Boyfriend points right there.
He kissed me briskly on the cheek then followed me inside. We sat on the opposing sofas, a coffee table separating us. Rather than a boyfriend, it felt as if I was sitting opposite a seriously hot guy with coiffed brown hair and wide-set apart blue eyes in a doctor’s office making small talk. “So, you’re my boyfriend for the next three hours,” I ventured, feeling as if I wanted the sofa to swallow me up.
“I don’t like to slip into the role straight away, I want to get to know you,” he said, stretching his toned arms. Suddenly I felt incredibly self-conscious. “Otherwise I’ll have to pretend or act, I don’t want to do that. I like to be able to connect with the person first, whether I’m giving them a BFE or you know, something more,” he said, almost shyly. “So tell me about you.”
He attentively listened, asking me questions before we moved onto him – he liked science, reading and exercise. He said he was a big nerd – a hot nerd at that.
I asked him what the boyfriend experience usually entails. ‘I do regular things, you know like escort women to a cool restaurant or a work function. One woman took me to play Putt-Putt Golf.”
“She paid you to play Putt-Putt with her?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah, that was an awesome date!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “I love Putt-Putt.”
Cash for cuddles
It was the “something more” aspect of his job that intrigued me. Ryan told me he worked through the exclusive escorting agency Honeychile Ryder (named after the original Bond girl) and that he loved sex, so he didn’t see any problem getting paid for it. Living the dream for a guy. I wondered how that sentiment would work out for a woman? He also admitted that most of his escorting work ended up in sex. Mostly his business came from couples who wanted a hot straight guy to have sex with the female partner, or, women who just wanted sex but without the hassle. He was in demand; he’d had five clients that week.
We sat there for about half an hour talking. Like any good date when you relax into yourself and open up, the more you connect. He was charming, funny and attentive like he was paid to be. “So, can I sit next to you?” Ryan said, eventually getting up, as he came over to my sofa. He took his shoes off and put his arm around me, continuing the conversation, but now with a physical closeness as he stroked my hair, ran his fingers down my back, as the rain now fell down in sheets.
“Oh babe, your hands are freezing,” he said rubbing them before putting them up his t-shirt to warm them up. Then he kissed me. It felt so soft and sensual. We cuddled up. I lay my head on his chest and cuddled into his hard, firm body. We stayed like that for ages, as my body flooded with the cuddle hormone oxytocin. For a few moments, I half rifted off to sleep I was so relaxed. Then I woke up and wondered if he was lying there cuddling a stranger, willing the time to speed up as if he was working in an office waiting for the clock on his computer to turn to home time. “Mmmm, you feel so good,” he said, tracing the curve of my waist to my hip, as he pulled me close. Was that the equivalent of making the right noises to get a client off? It didn’t matter. It was actually lovely to have some intimacy, even if it was paid for.
We stayed like that still for about 20 minutes before we finally went into the kitchen, where I made us both a gin and tonic. We both sat it at the breakfast bar where a stool divided us. I placed my feet on the vacant seat and Ryan stretched out his legs, so his feet touched mine. Then he curled his toes around mine. It was the most intimate of gestures, far more intimate than sex. For a moment, I had a boyfriend. He was a male escort, but that’s okay, that’s how he rolls.
Then he finished his gin & tonic and looked up at the clock. Our time together was seconds from over. He got up and put on his shoes, took me in his arms and kissed me gently. “Bye Lollie, I really enjoyed hanging out with you,” he said before disappearing out of the front door. The three hours had felt like 30 minutes. I finished my G&T and got on with the day with a big smile on my face, oxytocin coursing through my body.