First time – Virginity

“I think I can help you,” René wrote in response to the email I’d sent him not long before, explaining my ‘problem’. His words gave me a sense of hope – but also a healthy dose of skepticism. As impressive as his website made him sound, I still had plenty of doubts that weren’t so easily brushed aside.

Virgin

The fact that I had emailed him, a gigolo, after much hesitation, was above all an act of desperation. I wasn’t looking for adventure or fun, but for help. I was forty now (with my next birthday approaching faster than I would have liked), and still completely inexperienced when it came to sex.

Introvert

Naturally introverted and bullied for years as a child, I had grown into an insecure, shy teenager and young adult. I didn’t date, didn’t experiment with boys, and certainly not with sex. It’ll come, I used to tell myself, thinking I was probably just a late bloomer.

For a long time, I comforted myself with that thought. I kept telling myself that love would find me one day. But after turning thirty, as friends settled down and started families, it began to gnaw at me. I did try dating now and then, but it felt more like an obligation than something I genuinely enjoyed. It never went beyond a bland first or second date. I usually ended things myself, then made peace with being single for a while – until the next half-hearted attempt, which inevitably led to nothing as well.

Years of self-reflection and conversations with therapists have helped me understand why my love life never seemed to get back on track. Because of the bullying I experienced as a child, I developed a damaged self-image and a guarded, distrustful nature.

Fortress

At a young age, I learned to make myself small and invisible, to build a wall around me, and as an adult, I was still trapped behind it. Safe, maybe, but also isolated and unreachable. From that self-made fortress, I watched as the world moved on – people living their lives, stumbling and getting back up again, crying, laughing, loving.

I wanted to be part of that world, but I had no idea how. Even facing people felt daunting; fears of getting hurt, being misunderstood, looking foolish, or being rejected held me back. What seemed so simple for others felt increasingly out of reach for me.

Meanwhile, the years went by and age became more and more a concern and a hindrance; what man wants to date a forty-year-old woman who doesn’t know what to do in bed?

And so I kept going in circles, trapped in that same vicious cycle of fear and powerlessness, until a mix of circumstances finally pushed things to a breaking point. Suddenly, I was more than just tired of the impasse. Something had to change. The dull routine of my life had to be broken, no matter what it took.

Help of a gigolo

I went online, at first just looking for stories from others in a similar situation. That’s when I discovered that some women had actually found support and even healing through the help of a gigolo.

I had to sit with that thought for a while. Five or ten years ago, I probably would’ve laughed it off. But now? I thought, why not? Better an experienced professional you can make clear agreements with than a random guy from Tinder, with all the risks that come with that. The more I read, the more the idea started to take root.

I looked at the website of an escort agency and even sent a tentative email. But when they referred me to the gigolo profiles and asked me to make an initial selection, I froze. They were all beautiful men, every one of them, and many had glowing reviews.

But the idea of choosing a lover based solely on a photo and a few lines of superficial personal info: no, that didn’t sit right with me. Some even listed their size, which honestly didn’t interest me in the slightest. What mattered most to me was feeling safe with someone. That was the one thing I couldn’t compromise on.

The escort agency prided itself on its discretion and strict selection process, and seemed intent on discouraging women from working with independent gigolos. In a way, I understood that. I’m very protective of my privacy myself and had no intention of getting involved with someone of questionable character.

Rene

But one day, I came across an article in Libelle, where a woman described a positive experience with an independent gigolo. That at least reassured me somewhat. Unfortunately, the gigolo wasn’t named, but when I eventually found René’s website and realized he was the one from the article, it didn’t take me long to decide to email him.

Still, I spent a lot of time carefully going through his website, reading references and media coverage. Being naturally suspicious, I did my best to uncover anything that might expose him as a fraud. References can be faked easily enough, but the articles and interviews in various magazines were a different story. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t check out.

So I sent him a short message from an anonymous email address, and not long after, he replied with a kind and encouraging message. I took a quick look at the photos he had included, though I considered his appearance to be of secondary importance.

What gave me hope were the reviews. They said he had a special sensitivity when it came to women who’d been through something, like me. In fact, several women wrote that he wasn’t necessarily their “type,” yet they still had a wonderful experience with him. Some even mentioned that he had helped women with a history of abuse. He must have something special, I concluded.

“I believe I can help you. One step at a time.”

That’s what he wrote, and after exchanging one or two emails, we set up an appointment. I made it clear that I wanted to meet him somewhere neutral – in a public place close to me. There was no question I was going to give him my home address right away.

Brief introduction

He didn’t make a fuss about it at all and even said we could keep it to a brief introduction if I wasn’t comfortable. If we did end up at my place, he suggested that my clothes would stay on anyway, he said it would be exciting enough just like that. I could only agree wholeheartedly, and since he brought it up himself, I finally felt brave enough to set a date.

In the days leading up to the appointment, I fought the urge to cancel, knowing that would just leave me back at square one. I kept telling myself it didn’t have to go any further than a ten-minute introduction.

The day of the appointment finally arrived. René messaged me through the app to say he would be there on time, and that morning I busied myself getting the house ready – just in case.

Of course, I was nervous, with a constant stream of thoughts running through my head: What have I gotten myself into? Why did I want this? Am I crazy? But I expected the hardest part would be the final stretch.

At five minutes to one, I set off on foot to the meeting place. He was already there and pointed to a bench where we could sit and talk.

Surreal

It all felt surreal. Within two minutes, he asked me if I’d ever had an orgasm. To my surprise, I heard myself answer honestly. I was too tense to feel embarrassed by such a personal question. His calm, professional manner helped a lot. He then asked if I’d ever received any attention from men, and I said no.

He immediately understood that I wasn’t really open to it. I had subconsciously shut myself off from almost all contact with strangers, except what was absolutely necessary, avoiding eye contact whenever I could. Even if every man on the street turned to look at me, I probably wouldn’t notice.

Soon, too soon for my liking, the moment came when I had to decide whether we would continue this at my place. To be honest, by that point, I had started to lose my nerve. He seemed nice, looked like his pictures, and was attractive – but he was still a complete stranger. How was I ever going to do all those intimate things with someone I didn’t even know? I just couldn’t picture it yet.

But he had driven quite a distance, and offering him a drink felt like the least I could do. “Let’s have a coffee,” I said, rather impulsively, “and then we’ll see.” Probably not the warmest invitation he’d ever received..

Small talk

At my place, we had coffee and made a bit of small talk, he sat on the sofa, and I took the chair opposite him. At one point, René made a cheeky joke, probably to break the ice, but I couldn’t bring myself to laugh.

Tension was coursing through my body, and I was dreading whatever came next, whatever that might be. I hadn’t pictured the details, but I knew he would touch me, and that alone felt overwhelming.

René finished his coffee quickly and suggested we get started. I felt slightly dazed by how real it was all becoming, and something in me instinctively pushed back. I gave him a look that must have said it all. “You look so serious,” he said. I tried to lighten the mood. “Now you see how I scare men off?” “Yes,” he replied with a laugh – but he didn’t back down.

He placed two chairs facing each other and let me choose one. I had put on some background music in the meantime. René explained how he would proceed, that he would take things slowly, giving me time to get used to being touched. We sat across from each other, and he asked if he could touch my hand. I could handle that, so I held it out, and he took it gently in both of his. It didn’t feel unpleasant at all, actually, it felt nice. Calm, reassuring, and not the least bit threatening. Then he asked for my other hand and did the same.

Next came my knees, then my forearms, and so on, each time asking for permission first. I quickly noticed it felt easier not to look at him while he was doing this, so I turned my gaze away.

Touching

After a while, he got up and moved behind me. Again, he asked before touching different parts of my body, and each time, I said yes. To my surprise, it felt quite natural – much easier than I had expected. When he touched my now bare upper arms, I felt a flicker of discomfort, but that had more to do with how close he leaned than the touch itself.

I didn’t say much, I just responded when he asked something, usually with short answers. At one point, he laughed at something I hadn’t meant to be funny. “Why are you laughing?” I asked sharply, feeling for a moment as if he were laughing at me – an old reflex I knew too well. He paused for a moment, thinking. “Maybe because I’m a little nervous too,” he said. That surprised me.

And I suddenly realized, with a pang of guilt, that I hadn’t made much effort to be kind to him. I’d been so focused on myself, I hadn’t even considered that he might also find this a bit nerve-racking. The fact that he admitted it actually comforted me, it made me feel a little more at ease.

For a few hours, we continued with these kinds of exercises. Some went well for me, others less so. He never touched any intimate areas, of course; he had assured me beforehand that he wouldn’t.

Intimate

But when, with my permission, he stroked my face, it felt almost unbearably intimate. I could smell his aftershave – an unfamiliar scent. Not unpleasant, but strong, almost intrusive. I don’t know you, something inside me cried out. But I allowed the touch. I didn’t want to give up, and honestly, the thought never seriously crossed my mind.

René was so attentive, so careful, and he never did anything unexpected. He kept repeating that nothing had to happen, and that the choice was always mine. We eventually ended up on the couch, where René asked if I felt comfortable resting my head on his chest.

I did it!

Again, I felt a wave of internal resistance. I didn’t even know exactly why, but the thought of surrendering to him in that way triggered something deep inside me. I started bargaining, with myself, and a little with him too. Okay…ten seconds. The most uncomfortable ten seconds of my life. I pulled away quickly – but I did it.

By the end of those three hours, I was completely exhausted – and relieved it was over. So relieved, in fact, that to my own surprise, I suddenly wanted to give him a hug. At his invitation, I did.

It was unexpectedly lovely. Not awkward at all, just a warm, comforting embrace. Pure bliss. He even kissed me on the cheek. So incredibly sweet. “Let it sink in,” he said before he left. “I’ll give you a few days to yourself.”

That same evening, I sent him a message to thank him for the special afternoon, and to apologize for my sometimes abrupt or awkward behavior. He wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m proud of you,” he replied. I was taken aback. It felt so genuine, so kind, and I had been so suspicious of him. I felt something hard inside me begin to soften, a small ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was a beginning. Two days after we met, I texted him again, and we set a new date.

My review..

Below is my review after multiple appointments:
“Lots of grateful women on your site,” I said to you when we first met – only to silently add, “I’d like to be one of them.” But if I’m honest, I didn’t believe for a second that you’d actually succeed, despite all those glowing testimonials.


My fears and insecurities, a lingering legacy from childhood, had shaped my life for so long. I couldn’t see over the wall anymore to glimpse what else life might hold, let alone feel it. In truth, I had already settled for that.


Now I want to write a testimonial of my own, to publicly admit: I was wrong. I underestimated both myself and you. Even though I’m not yet where I want to be, I now believe I’ll get there – just like you always said I would.

And I’ve come to see that those weren’t empty words, but genuine belief in me. Even when I was battling my inner critic and losing faith, you didn’t. For that, and for your patience and gentle touch, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Because of you, the belief is slowly but surely growing that I’m allowed to be here – fully, visibly, and as I am.

And to all the women reading this who are still hesitating, especially those, like me, who struggle with intimacy and are considering seeing a gigolo for a kind and respectful experience: Push past your doubts and send René a message.

Give yourself that chance. He’s the real deal. You’re in safe, and very capable hands.”

Stephanie