Who am I to judge?

Bad things happens to men who use escorts.

No, I don't mean they get divorced, arrested or catch social diseases. Well that does happen but I was talking about something else - their moral compass gets put seriously out of kilter.

Take relationships.

Now, to be clear, I'm not looking for any female company, as I am aiming to remain faithful but, were I currently single (and having experienced commercial sex), I'd really struggle with the whole dating thing. I mean, look at it:

• the embarrassment of the first approach (will I be shot down in flames?);
• the struggle of the first date (where do I take her, what have we got in common?);
• the first kiss (have I interpreted the signs correctly?);
• the first sex (what does she like, is she just faking it?);
• the longer term relationship (is she only with me till she finds something better, am I with her till I find something better?).

God, it's so random.

Compare that to calling an escort, where there is no effort required other than a shower and a visit to the cash-machine. You will get laid. There is no relationship.

And let's not get started on sexual compatibility. The thought of spending weeks getting some scrumptious piece of totty into bed only to find that she thinks "doggy style" is perverted beyond the bounds of human decency would fill me with dread. I might have read both Debrett's Etiquette and PJ O'Rourke's Modern Manners but I still don't know the acceptable way of asking a young lady if she will provide OwO, CIM, DATY and A-levels (unprotected oral sex, come in mouth, cunnilingus and anal sex, for the uninitiated) on the first date. With an escort you can ask the question on the first phone call (if phrased correctly).

Now this isn't a paean for the use of commercial sex but it illustrates why it fucks you up.

But it goes further.

Perhaps the worst thing is that one starts to think every woman would have sex for money. We have an extremely attractive Polish cleaner. I'd sit and watch her leaning over to polish a table and think what it might cost for her to polish my knob (hmm, three interesting usages of the word polish). Not, notice, "I wonder if I could chat her up and get some rumpy-pumpy for free".

More than that, I started to believe that I can price where any girl could extract money to sleep with me. I used to catch myself looking at a girl and thinking "Hmm, £300 per hour and a bit more if she offers some of the more exotic services..." That said, in my sexual frustration that preceded my use of escorts, I'd "price" women in pints of beer (as in how many pints would I have to have downed before I'd be unfaithful with her).

And yes, I realise that pricing women was a very bad thing (unless I plan to go into the brothel business as a second career).

One is reminded of the (perhaps apocryphal) story about Churchill and a young lady to whom he'd been chatting for the evening:

"Madam," he said, rather drunk. "Would you sleep with me for 1,000 guineas?"
"Why, Mr Churchill," she replied, blushing, "Do you know, I do believe that I would."
"Well madam, would you sleep with me for 5 guineas?"
"Mr Churchill! What kind of lady do you take me for!" she stammered in indignation.
"Madam," said Churchill, puffing on his cigar, "we have already established what type of lady you are. We are now merely haggling over the price."

Enjoy...