One day the word gigolo appeared somewhere, and I was curious, intrigued by it. It was so abstract, so unknown to me. Something that existed in the world, but that I had never encountered in my own life, except as something obscure and romanticized in a film. Surely there was more, there had to be more than some larger than life experience, completely beyond my reach. There had to be something, someone . . . real, right? It took me one year to finally find out.
As I started searching the internet for this secret world full of taboos, all I encountered were ridiculous photos of men exposing themselves or escort agencies with men who seemed to be picked directly from a modeling agency. These men seemed better suited to the pages of a magazine than on a date with someone like me. They were attractive, no doubt, but their real personality was a mystery. Sometimes, even their faces were hidden! What if the head was not so pleasing as the body? I did not want to spend hours with someone that I may not find interesting at all, someone whose well-rehearsed role of charming companion I would immediately see as just that, a role he is playing, nothing real or true. I would feel nothing but disappointment.
So, I continued to search.
And then, one day, I stumbled upon Vince. His site was so pleasant and unique. There was so much to see and read! He was so open, so revealing and honest about himself. The photos spoke warmth and personality, classy and inviting, not vulgar and imposing. The testimonies of other women sounded genuine, pleasant and intense. Vince was not just a body in a photo, not just a perfected persona on a screen, he seemed so … real.
I hesitantly sent a short e-mail that I wanted to meet, and he replied. But this was still new to me. I was still unsure and afraid, self-conscious and scared. So, I made no appointment. But in the many months after that, Vince remained ever in my thoughts. Day after day, I dreamed of meeting him and what the experience would be like. Would I like him? Would he like me? Would I be disappointed? I longed to see him, talk to him and know him in person. But each time I stopped short of reaching out to him again, my fear always overtaking me.
Until the day my longing became stronger than my fear. I wrote to him, suggesting a concrete date to meet each other and pressed Send before I could change my mind or back out. I would dream no more. I would make it reality.
We agreed on a place to meet. As I waited, I grew nervous, but I knew I had to do this. My curiosity of the gigolo experience, and especially of Vince, was like a thirst longing to be quenched. Even if I was to be disappointed, it would no longer be a mystery and I would know for certain.
And then he was there. I had prepared myself for an uncomfortable, awkward start, but he immediately made a joke, not a faint one that obliged me to laugh politely, but one that quickly broke the ice and put us both at ease. I was taken by the cheerful, spontaneous, beautiful man at my door. Vince played no one other than himself, so open, authentic and wonderful. He did not pretend to be some slick, smooth fancy gentleman spewing a well-rehearsed script full of paper compliments and cheesy lines. He was just . . . himself, and it was perfect.
And we clicked. We talked for a long time and then started kissing gently, so naturally. What followed was an evening with two uncomplicated bodies and a shameless dedication to one another.
Before Vince, I associated high-class with an expensive, suave gigolo, tight in his suit, playing his three-hour role.
But what I experienced with Vince … so open, attentive, disarming and playful, so genuine, kind and honest …. it created a warm and friendly feeling that lingered for weeks, along with a tingling body. A special person that you would like to see again. I believe that is the only thing I want to call high class.