I walk my way into the restaurant, desperate to get this over with and excited to get it off my chest. Excitement is not something I thought I would be feeling at a time like this, but I think I’m just excited to finally spill the beans. I feel like I have been holding onto this secret for so long, and I’m ready to figure it out.
I see Jeremy instantly, waiting for me at our favorite table. We used to come here often, almost weekly, but we both got busy with life. He started working overtime at his construction job since the busy season started and I started a new job last month as a financial planner. I have been in the field before, but not like this, so it has sucked most of my time up. Aside from when I’m fucking people so bad, they leave my bed, of course.
I walk over to the table in the dimly lit restraint, enjoying the familiarity of it. The tables are all dark wood, making it feel homey. The leather on the seats feels genuine and the drinks are usually made extra strong, which is the biggest reason Jeremy and I started coming here in the first place.
Jeremy stands up and we do the typical man hug with the pat on the back thing before we both settle into our seats. Something about the familiarity makes it feel easier to have this conversation too. This place calms my nerves on every level, and although I’m still full of shame, it’s almost outweighed by comfort.
“How’s it going, man? You seemed pretty tense on the phone,” Jeremy asks instantly, making me smile. He has never been one to beat around the bush.
“It’s been okay,” I say, not knowing how to lie to him, but not wanting to come right out with the truth before I have even been served a drink.
Our server comes up and takes both of our orders. We both do our regulars, him a scotch on the rocks, and me a rum and coke. The server leaves quickly to get our drinks and we are left alone again, forcing me to face up to my reality.
“You got something on your mind?” Jeremy asks, looking serious and full of humor at the same time, a vibe he has perfected over the years.
“I may have a slight problem I wanted to work out with you,” I mumble, suddenly not very excited about this conversation.
Against my better judgment though, I take a deep breath, and finally spill every single second of the last hour of my life, and give him as much background as I can.
My words finally stop, and Jeremy is looking at me like I just told him I want to cut my own head off. His head cocks to the side, as he fully takes in my words. His eyebrows scrunch together as he thinks about it.
“She just got up? In the middle of banging?” Jeremy asks as if he doesn’t believe me. I start to nod, and he starts to shake his head, asking me to stop. “Dude, I thought you were fucking around all the time. How didn’t I know about this?” His words cut me unexpectedly deep. I have always been open with Jeremy and it isn’t like our friendship for me to keep something so big a secret, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to get made fun of, but honestly, I should have known better when it comes to Jeremy.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I confess, pushing the embarrassment away for the moment. “I really thought I could figure it out on my own but I gave it time and I haven’t been able to. The only reason I’m saying anything now is that I’m desperate for a solution.” The truth in my words hits me, and I’m struck by the realization that something needs to change. I’m not happy with how my sex life is going, and I’ve been a backseat driver for too long. It’s time to finally figure this out.
I can’t keep pushing women’s needs aside and hope that it gets better. It makes me feel like a tool and I hate that. It makes me a tool and I hate that. I can’t even imagine the shit people have said about it, and instead of doing something about it, I have just been ignoring it and hoping it would go away.
“This bothers you, doesn’t it?” Jeremy asks, trying to figure out my feelings. I let out a long sigh, trying to commit to the fact that I need to have this conversation. The idea of forcing myself to figure this out is easy, but actually doing it is another thing entirely.
When I go to open my mouth, the words sit in the back of my throat, unable to come out. It’s foreign to me to open up, and a part of me doesn’t want to do it. But the part of me that wants to make a woman cum, wins.
“I’ve been ignoring it for years hoping it would go away. I just feel like I should have figured it out by now,” I finally admit, trying to get the boulder of truth rolling down the hill.
“Listen, I don’t say this lightly,” Jeremy says, looking me in the eyes. “Have you ever thought of getting someone to teach you?” He looks at me earnestly and humiliation runs through my veins quickly. I do my best to push my embarrassment away, knowing it isn’t helping me get over this, but fuck it’s hard.
“I don’t want to tell some stranger off the street that I don’t know how to fuck,” I say sheepishly, wishing to god that I never had to hear those words come out of my mouth. This is the reason I never wanted to say anything.
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Jeremy says, giving me a slight raise of his eyebrows. I stare at him, trying to read the hidden meaning behind his words, but coming up short. What the fuck is he talking about? I give him a look that says exactly what I’m thinking and he still doesn’t answer.
“Dude, use your words,” I say, starting to get annoyed.
“What if you hired someone to teach you?” Jeremy asks honestly.
“Like a hooker?” I ask, shocked he thought of that idea so easily. I’ve been dealing with this for years and that thought has never crossed my mind, mostly because I have no idea how I would even go about finding someone to hire for sex.
“I think they’re called sex workers nowadays, dude,” Jeremy corrects, and it proves my point. I don’t know jack shit about sex workers, much less how to hire one to teach me how to fuck.
“Either way, I don’t know anything about getting a sex worker,” I say, exasperated and feeling like he is missing the point. I want to figure this out and off-the-wall ideas are not what I need right now.
“I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I have this buddy who pays for sex regularly,” Jeremy says with a tilt of his head.
“Regularly?” I ask, confused.
“I guess he has this woman that he sees every few weeks. She’s like a small business sex worker. She only has a few clients who she likes and trusts, and won’t see anyone unless they get referred to her,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as if he isn’t quite sure.
“Huh,” I state, still digesting this information.
“I don’t know if he would do it, but I could ask if he would refer you,” Jeremy suggests and my eyes dart to his. He’s serious.
I run the idea through my head for a few seconds, really trying to digest it. It feels off-the-wall, but every normal idea has wasted my time. I’ve tried learning through porn, and that never got me anywhere because I never felt like I could transfer the things I learned in the video to real life. I tried with one-night stands, and I still didn’t do anything other than leave a bunch of women unsatisfied.
Maybe someone who is used to being paid for sex is the perfect person for the job. I could explain what is happening, with less fear of them walking away instantly because I can’t guarantee satisfaction.
Why would I trust a random stranger off the street to teach me how to fuck, when there are professionals for something like that? If I wanted to learn basketball, I wouldn’t ask a rookie to teach me how to play, I would ask someone who plays ball for a living. Why should this be any different?
I hear myself talking before I even have a second to think about the words coming out of my mouth. “Ya know what? Why not? Give him a call and see what he says,” I say, finally feeling like there may be a solution in my future.
