Testimonies from Service Providers

Laurie Lee         Nikita          Kian          Pru

 

Laura Lee

 

As a sex worker with twenty years experience, working with disabled people is something I have always done and found hugely rewarding. There’s a special bond of trust and understanding between provider and client and it has been a learning process for me and for my guys too.

In a practical sense, I’ve learned about rolling, moving and lifting, and using hoists. But more than that, I’ve learned a lot about myself: I’ve learned that actually, I have much to give in terms of kindness, patience, empathy, and an open ear.

I’ve also learned that disabled people have a lot to give too, and that they live with similar stigmas to that which we experience as sex workers. I can never thank TLC and Tuppy Owens enough for providing a safe space for us to interact; it means so much for both providers and clients. Here is a piece I wrote some time ago on the impact of the “Swedish model” on my work with disabled clients, which seems more prevalent now than ever before:

’I have a client I see from time to time — let’s call him “K”. K is a young guy, very handsome, always spotlessly clean and smelling like heaven on earth. His emails send me into convulsions! He has the most amazing sense of humour, and his wry observations on the topics of the day would outdo many contemporary writers.

Like most men, one of K’s favourites is fellatio: he likes nothing more than for yours truly to peel off the layers down to lingerie with stockings and suspenders and get to work. He lies back in blissful abandonment, and enjoying every moment.

Every so often, I get a swift blow to the back of the head, something I’m accustomed to now. We seem to have developed a ratio around the whole experience, for every three or so thumps, there is one “sorry”. K can’t avoid smacking me, because he has very limited motor control of his limbs as a result of his cerebral palsy. In the end, we both usually end up in fits of laughter at the absurdity of it all, because that’s all we CAN do really. How wonderful.

Many years ago and in a brothel far away, came an elderly man and it’s fair to say that he frightened small children (to coin a phrase) because he had developed a form of mouth cancer which back then, very little was known about. His treatment involved cutting the offending tissue away, which meant that on one side of his face his cheek was missing and if you looked at him from the side, he looked like a sinister, grinning skeleton. His wife had died some time previously and as a result of his appearance he lived as a recluse, going out only every couple of days for messages. Once every couple of months, though, he took a taxi to the parlour where I worked and I knew what he wanted.

I would thank him for my chocolates, light some candles, and play some soft music. After that, he would drown me in baby oil and massage me from head to toe, now and then dipping his head just to inhale my perfume and bury his face into my neck. That was his treasured contact which he looked forward to so much. After about a year and a half of our appointments I moved away to London but, to this day, I still think of him, a true gentleman in every sense of the word.

All of which leads me to the question: if the purchase of “sex is banned, then what will become of those men who rely solely on sex workers for their needs, whatever they may be? Can you honestly foresee a day when that elderly gent will be able to join a dating site and find a woman for a massage and a cuddle? And what of K? Will he ever meet a woman who can meet his needs and see beyond the exterior?

It really angers me when I read the views of various writers who paint a picture of my clients as insatiable lust-driven animals. A lack of knowledge on their subject is no deterrent to most of those critics. Let me be quite clear here: it’s not a question of rights or entitlement, not at all. No man is entitled to claim a sexual act as his right. On the other hand, I do believe that disabled clients ought to have the same opportunities as their able bodied counterparts, which is actually where the law stands.

If Rhoda Grant’s new proposal is adopted as law, it will be a shocking indictment on just how small minded and blinkered Scotland is. It’s time we recognized that not only is it impossible to “reduce demand” but also, “demand” is a very complex and multi-layered animal, as indeed is “supply” (best described as diverse in the extreme).

Frankly, were I a purchaser of “sex”, I know I would find the notion of an ill-informed politician telling me what I can and can’t do in the privacy of my own bedroom downright insulting. Ironically, to condemn those men I have written about to a life of solitude and loneliness on the basis of a Victorian attitude towards the exchange of sexual services for money is hugely immoral in itself.”

Laura Lee works in Glasgow

 

Nikita

 

I met a client via this website who was terminally ill. In Feb 2014, after searching, his sister had found TLC and called me. She said that her brother had motor neurone disease and that, although he was ill, he wanted sexual experiences. He was 53 and had never had an intimate relationship with any woman! He had been shy, and had lived with his parents, and when they passed away, he had remained in the family home. She had tried all kinds of ways to find him help, including health professionals, but never got anywhere till she found the TLC. She wanted what was best for her brother. Arranging this was important to her, as he was becoming very frustrated.

My first visit was strange, because he could only just about say yes and no. It was decided that from then on I would visit him every Monday at 3pm, and I always checked first to ensure he wanted me. Each week, I would see the changes in him, and I watched him slowly deteriorate as the illness took hold.

It sounds odd, but our friendship blossomed and, although people may think it strange, I formed an emotional connection with him. We talked, and I told him lots of things about my life including my home life, the things I had done each week, and even about my children. He actually knew me by my real name: I felt it was nicer for him to know who I really was. I even helped with his personal care.

There was no magic cure; nothing was going to stop the inevitable effect of his illness — it was going to take his life in the end. These last 6 months have been a waiting game for me: seeing his condition deteriorate; knowing that each time could be the last; laughing, joking, and spending intimate time with him; sharing secrets, and seeing how happy he was to see me each week.

I was preparing for him to go into respite care last Wednesday, which would be my last visit. He was quite sick, so I decided to spend some extra time with him. He asked via his iPad for his carer to show me his PCC care plan for the hospice, and it stated that he no longer wanted medical intervention. I knew, that day, that it was going to be the last time I would see him. I remember kissing him, and telling him I loved him as my best friend.

Then I received a call to say he had passed away peacefully in his sleep. He left a lasting impression on my life.

My advice to any service provider who finds TLC is this: enter with an open mind, and place yourself in the shoes of your client. Deprivation of personal intimacy for them can be the worst thing in the world. Allowing them to explore their intimate side could give them the greatest gift they could ever receive, and the feeling that they are truly human.

Nikita works in the Midlands in England

Kian de la Cour

I was brought up in a Danish household in England where nudity was regarded as natural and more neutral than sexual. I have done a lot of training, most recently the Certificate in Sexological Bodywork. As I had wanted to support disabled people in their personal lives since I was at university, I put my profile up on the TLC-Trust website.

One day, a blind lady telephoned me. We spoke together and she told me what she wanted. I explained what I was offering which would suit her and we agreed a fee of £200 for two hours.

She chose to meet in a hotel room of her choice, where she had become familiar with the room layout and felt safe. She was actually partially sighted with very little sight. She wanted erotic massage and I gave her a Taoist erotic massage. It involved full body massage including genital massage. It is not interactive sex but a receptive experience for the receiver. I coached her in breathing & moving to enhance her perception of pleasure.

She was very shy about being seen and touched, so we went at her pace. She said she had usually only received touch in a medical setting with clinical intentions, so to receive touch just for her own pleasure was new and very moving. I touched her scars, which had resulted from extensive stretch marks. I held still on areas of her body, describing what I saw to her. She cried with grief for what she had been missing and with the joy of receiving in safety and pleasure. I held the space for her to feel her grief, while checking in with her that she was OK, gently asking what it was about when appropriate.

Afterwards, I had an email thanking me for the experience. I think it helped her to feel more whole and integrated with her sexuality. I don’t know what happened to her after that.

I had another call via the TLC-Trust site from a man affected by the drug Thalidomide. Initially his carer talked to me as he had had a bad experience with a previous sex worker who had assumed they knew what he wanted. He gave me very specific instructions which I agreed to. It amounted to my supporting his arousal while he self-pleasured, which he was able to do himself.

Initially he would mutter to himself which seemed to indicate his going into the past. I wondered how it would be for him to have a choice about being present with himself and with me in the present. I noticed that he had a limited set of “erotic scripts” of fantasies and roles that he repeated. After some sessions I reflected this back to him and we explored what they meant to him.

I suggested that, if his fantasies and visual aids took him out of his body, then coming into his body (embodiment) could allow him to feel greater pleasure and lessen his dependency on recycling these memories (of eroticised punishment). I made clear it was also fine to continue with what he had always done if that was his choice. He decided he would like to explore other options and was interested in feeling more pleasure in his body (be more embodied).

During subsequent sessions I guided him through deep slow breathing. I stopped touching frequently, resting, and brought his attention to his bodily (somatic) experience by asking him about what he was feeling, where in his body. He generally located a sensation where I was touching him and described sensation (warmth, rainbow colours) spreading throughout his body from there.

In between sessions I gave him home practices such as pelvic floor muscle clenches to increase his capacity for and awareness of pleasure.

As a result of these awareness practices he reported:

“I feel that I can dig deeper into my sexual pleasures … I feel I can explore even deeper into the pleasures of the sensations with each part of the session. I find taking away the picture focused my mind on the moment more deeply and physically. Less distraction. I can shut my eyes and focus even more. Also I used to drop the picture which interrupted the sessions. I think from now on I will accept your suggestion of not having the picture in front of me.”

He said that every session is better than the preceding one which I think suggests he is literally reinforcing his neural pathways for experiencing pleasure.

While some people have single or occasional “island” experiences of somatic sex education or erotic exploration, which have the potential to be revolutionary in themselves, this example shows that with repeated practice over time, increasing gains can be enjoyed in the experience of being present with and fully experiencing erotic pleasure, discovering more options and creating more choices, refinements, sensation and awareness.

 

Kian de la Cour
www.deeplytouched.uk

 

Pru

It was a potentially awkward situation. The son sat to my right. The father sat to my left. We alternately made and avoided eye contact with each other. I was about to shag the son and take away his virginity. The father had been the one to set up the meeting. His son had learning difficulties and had never had a girl-friend.  This young man was really lucky. Very few carers or parents looking after disabled people ever acknowledge that the person they are taking such impeccable care of has a basic need that they cannot fulfil – the need for intimacy, sex, a hug, a blow job, whatever; the things every one else take for granted.

The arrangements were done via email at first. The father had found me listed on the TLC web site aimed specifically to list escorts that welcome disabled men and women as clients. He wrote and explained he was writing on behalf of his son whose learning difficulties meant he could neither read nor write. There was a slight risk of him having an epileptic fit – slight because he hadn’t had one in years. But it was anyone’s guess what the excitement or trauma of sex for the first time might trigger.  I was a bit alarmed that perhaps he had picked me without the son’s input, but I needn’t have worried. Mother, father and son had all looked at my profile and decided that I’d be the chosen one.

As I am attracted to older men, it was natural that I’d size his father up when they arrived. He was definitely worth checking out. In another life, I’d have flirted outrageously with him if our paths had crossed. He had to be at least in his fifties and had kind eyes, a gentle smile, and stood tall and proud (I have nothing against short men – they have easier access to my nipples).  I guess I didn’t check his son out that much since it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to have him any way! But he wasn’t bad looking either. Too young for me to chat up outside of work even though he was actually older than he looked.

The father declined the offer of tea or coffee. I thought perhaps he couldn’t wait to be away from the awkward situation. Or maybe he was just being sensitive to his son’s feelings who clearly resented the fact that he needed his father to bring him over. There was a typical parent-child moment when the son snapped at him for belatedly remembering to tell me that he had a nut allergy.

“Why couldn’t you tell her that by email?” he pouted, exasperated. I personally couldn’t see the difference. It was good to know. But maybe for a moment, he felt embarrassed to be spoken about as if he were not there. It is really hard in these situations when you have a go-between acting out of sincerity. His father apologised curtly as if to forestall a major storm brewing. I guessed they’d discuss this later. Calm was restored.

I would actually later learn that the young man’s mother was waiting in the car downstairs. Both parents went to a local wine bar (to steady their nerves or drown their sorrows?)

Alone at last, I led my soon-to-be-a-virgin-no-more upstairs by the hand. I helped him with his shirt buttons, belt and zip and slipped his jeans off. He kept his socks on. Then I pushed him back lying on the bed so he could watch me undress. I guessed he’d done a fair bit of browsing online and through magazines. This was the time to find out if there was anything in particular he would like to try. He was mute and gulped. So we kissed instead which seemed to relax him.

It was clear that no initiative whatsoever was going to come from him. So I worked my way down from his lips to his groin. And when I took him in my mouth, he declared:

“That is well nice!”

I gave him the option to put the condom on, but his hand co-ordination and nerves meant he couldn’t. I took over and slipped it over his cock. He was so well endowed that even when not fully aroused, the condom was easy to slip on and stayed on for the duration.

He loosened up a bit and it made a change to hear about himself from his own lips and not via his father. His mother, he told me, had approached him before they left home, and asked him if he was sure he wanted to go ahead with it. He had never been surer of anything in his life. He was tired of being a virgin. I asked him if he’d never been attracted to any of the girls at the school he went to. It had been a Special Needs school and without going into any details, he said he hadn’t fancied any of the girls there.

As the hour drew to an end (I had told his father to start counting the hour not from when they had arrived but from when he had left us alone together), the young man was coming out of his shell and asking very politely if we could do this, or that, or that again. One minute he wanted more oral sex. The next he wanted me to ride him again. I glanced at the time and realised that his father would be back any minute. He groaned and looked frustrated. He hadn’t cum yet. But he was happy. Just then, I saw the light on my phone flashing – I turn the ringer off during sessions. It was his father at the front door. Neither of us had heard the front door bell ring.

We scurried about like illicit lovers caught in the act. I made myself presentable and zoomed downstairs to let his father back in. I left the son getting dressed, something he has to do a bit more slowly than usual.

“It wasn’t too traumatic?” his father asked kindly as I let him back in.

“No, I think he enjoyed it once he got settled,” I assured him.

“Actually, I meant, I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you!”

Injecting humour into a moment more awkward than asking one’s prospective father-in-law for his daughter’s hand in marriage was greatly appreciated. We both chuckled quietly. I felt I had to be on my best behaviour. There was this “I know what you did last Summer” feel to our conversation as we made our way upstairs. Soon the son came down-stairs, dressed and looking a little sheepish.

And then they were gone. And life could return to what is normal in the life of a professional London escort.

Pru, Busty Ebony London Escort