The Excesses I Saw When I Sold My Body

Sometimes, the search for more pleasure and for doing ever more exciting things ends up putting the most basic thing at risk: health. I learned that the hard way. In the years I spent doing sex work, I met people who went to dangerous extremes, and I myself came close to some of them more than once. I had my share of emergency room visits, and that’s without counting the aftereffects you can’t see, the ones you take home and carry for months.

There are plenty of people who think they have everything «under control» until something traumatic happens. I’ve seen it up close and, unfortunately, on occasion I’ve been part of it. Sex is not something to joke about or trivialize. It’s something that gives pleasure, something almost everyone likes, but it can also cause a lot of pain and leave terrible scars. I’m writing this now with the calm of someone who has already left it behind, but I didn’t always see it so clearly.

During the time I got paid to sleep with strangers, I saw a lot of bodies. Asses, cocks, and the occasional cunt. Most clients wanted the same thing: to suck me off, to fuck me, or to be fucked. Things within the expected range. But there were always others who, without giving up on the above, wanted more extreme practices. Couples with dynamics of domination that I found disturbing. And here I want to break one assumption a lot of people take for granted.

People usually think that this kind of «hard» practice is a man’s thing. I won’t deny it entirely, but I’ve known women with such an appetite and such a dominant instinct that they left me speechless. Women who took the reins in a way that was a little frightening. I understood it completely with one particular couple, one of those dates that stay burned into your memory even though you’d rather forget them.

Over time I learned to read people in the first few minutes. Who came looking for company, who came looking to unload, and who came looking to push a boundary further and further in. That last category was the one I had to watch most carefully, because they almost never knew where their own brake was. And I, being paid to be there, had to decide how far to go with them without ending up complicit in something I’d later regret.

***

They contacted me together for a session. She was in her forties, give or take; he looked quite a bit older, maybe close to sixty. We talked for a while beforehand, as I always do, to understand what they wanted and set clear limits. Even in that conversation I noticed something strange, a tension I didn’t quite like. It was her who spoke; he barely nodded, eyes fixed on the floor, waiting for instructions.

—He does whatever I tell him —she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather.

The three of us got naked. I started by interacting with her. We kissed, I went down on her cunt, and ate her out slowly while he watched on his knees, not moving from where he was. Then she sucked my cock for a while and, without warning, ordered her partner to sit up. The man obeyed at once. He sucked me while she held his neck with one hand and shoved his head against me, setting the rhythm. Up to that point, nothing I hadn’t seen before.

What came next was what turned my stomach. She positioned herself behind him and, while the man still had his mouth occupied, shoved her hand straight up his ass, with no kind of preparation at all. He let out a long moan and made a face that was half pain, half pleasure. I froze. There had been no lube, no patience, not the slightest care.

This isn’t normal, I thought, this is going to get out of hand.

But nothing seemed to be getting out of hand for them. The woman bent down until she was level with her partner, with her hand still inside his body, and then the two of them sucked me off at once. It was a choreography they clearly had rehearsed. I kept playing along because it was my job, but inside I kept calculating how much longer it would be before something truly broke.

When the blowjob ended, he turned and I could see him properly. What I saw hit me harder than anything else that night. He had battered buttocks and an anus open and stretched in a way I had never seen before, a zone that years of abuse had completely deformed. I almost lost my erection from sheer shock.

—Now fuck that ass —she ordered me, with the same coldness as before.

I put on the condom and did it. I won’t lie: it took effort, not because it was physically difficult but because the whole thing repulsed me. It went in with the slightest resistance. I could barely feel any pressure, and he hardly reacted at all, as if his body no longer registered the difference between having something inside it or not. I think it was one of the most unpleasant times I’ve ever penetrated someone. Not because of the person, but because of what that body was telling me without words.

Then I fucked her. And in the middle of it, without warning again, she put her whole hand up her partner’s ass while I was fucking her. She did it with such naturalness that I was left speechless. He came on her tits, and then I finished. I got dressed faster than usual and left with a strange feeling lodged in my body, one that took days to go away.

***

That date made me think a lot, and it reaffirmed a decision that had already been circling in my head: I wasn’t going to do fisting. I had tried it and I had seen it done once or twice, but it was always something I treated with enormous respect. I know there are people who enjoy it and that, done wisely, with time and care, it doesn’t have to end badly. But after experiences like that, it became clear to me that the risks, for me, weren’t worth it. Seeing what that man had done to his own body, or what he let them do to him, was enough.

And it wasn’t the only case that marked me in that sense.

***

On another occasion I was with a woman who hadn’t yet turned fifty, but whose pussy looked like that of someone much older, like a woman who had given birth to a dozen children. I’m not saying that cruelly; I’m saying it because it shocked me. She liked very rough sex: huge dildos, being fucked as hard as possible, having my hand shoved into her vagina. Things she asked me for herself, with a mental checklist, like someone reciting a recipe.

That wasn’t the saddest part. The saddest part was the consequence. That woman no longer enjoyed «normal» sex. She had taken her body to a point where she needed bigger and bigger stimuli to feel anything. She needed large cocks or an entire hand to reach orgasm. A soft, slow encounter, the kind many people find unnecessary, left her completely indifferent.

—Harder —she kept saying—. I can’t feel anything, harder.

At one point I stopped for a second, almost without meaning to, and looked at her face. There was no pleasure in her expression, only a kind of anguished searching, like someone scratching and scratching at an itch that nothing can soothe anymore. I felt terribly sorry for her. I finished the service, got paid, and left, but that image stuck to me far longer than any beautiful body that had passed through my hands.

And I gave her what she wanted, because that’s what she paid me for, but I walked away with my head spinning over the same old question. At what point does pleasure become a race to feel more and more, until almost nothing is felt at all? When does it stop being a game and start being a dependency?

***

I don’t want this to sound like a sermon from someone who is no longer in that world and feels entitled to judge others. Each person does what they want with their body, and fair enough. I’m not denying that these practices can be very pleasurable, or that there are people capable of sustaining them over time without anything going wrong, if they do them with knowledge and respect. I’ve seen people genuinely enjoy themselves who knew exactly what they were handling.

But I’ve seen the other side too. I’ve seen broken bodies, dependencies, ER visits at four in the morning, and lost expressions after a session that went too far. I’ve seen it, and more than once I’ve lived it firsthand. That’s why I’m writing all this: not to scare anyone, but so that whoever reads this confession knows that behind the pursuit of excess there is often a price you don’t see until it’s too late.

Pleasure is one of the best things we have. But, like most good things, it’s best treated with a little respect. I learned that lesson by looking at other people’s limits, and I’m grateful I knew when to stop before crossing my own. Not everyone has that luck, and those are the stories that truly keep me up at night.