I noticed this letter the other day to Rachel Johnson's advice column. It struck a chord with me, and I suspect many of us would be in a similar situation. I thought Johnson's reply was fair. She couldn't go so far as to say "Good for you, go for it!" - I doubt the editors would allow her to do that - but is not at all condemning as, for example, Hadley Freeman and Julie Bindel.
It seems to be behind a paywall, so I have cut and pasted the relevant bits.
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Dear Rachel,
We live in a semi-rural part of the West Midlands and enjoy country walks with our black labradors. I work as a solicitor advising on corporate law. It’s all pretty idyllic. However, within five years of marriage my wife appeared to decide that sex was something that I was now supposed to “provide” in a satisfactory manner on a once-a-week basis with the minimum of involvement from her. This gradually tailed off to the point that we have not had sex for the past seven years or more and my wife will happily tell friends that we have no sex drive at our age for which she is grateful.
I, however, do have a healthily active sex drive, and when marital sex became such a chore 25 years ago, I had a decision to make. On average I visit an escort for an hour or two every two to three weeks and have done so for 25 years. My ideal escort will be late 20s to early 40s and I have mostly fantastic sex with gorgeous women. I am very careful to avoid anyone who has been trafficked and I tend to have a series of regulars. I make sure I am regularly tested for STIs and have never tested positive – which is probably very lucky, although I try to be careful. I would have preferred to have a great sexual relationship with my wife but this was not to be and we both may have been much less happy than we are.
My question to you this: is what I have done necessarily wrong? I am regularly hearing extreme whinges from male friends about the state of their relationships, wishing they were not married and mourning the past but having no outlet.
– Anon
Dear Anon,
I picked your letter as it came in the wake of a storm over an article in the Spectator. Lloyd Evans, the magazine’s theatre critic, wrote that he’d attended a house of ill repute in Cambridge, had a satisfactory 17-minute “brisk workout” with an obliging prostitute, got dressed, paid online and then left.
Mischief-makers misinterpreted his piece. They said the visit to the brothel was occasioned by the writer’s unbridled desire for a blonde and attractive academic he’d heard lecture earlier that day, and he’d had to pay an impromptu call on a prostitute to relieve himself – even though Evans made clear the session was pre-booked. Which brings us to you. I’m sure you harbour some feelings of guilt about the arrangements you have made that are preserving at least the façade of marital unity, if not harmony. But exchanging money for sexual services is legal in this country (soliciting on the street isn’t, so be aware of what’s allowed) and one in 10 men have done exactly what you are doing. I’m sure many husbands whose wives have shut up shop or sigh, “Okay, as long as you’re quick and I can carry on reading” will envy your enterprise. Especially as you say it brings you “fantastic sex with gorgeous women”, who no doubt spice things up a bit compared to the limited repertoire of the long-married trad-wife.
A quick trawl of my friendship group proved the fizz has gone out of the bottle too, and apart from a brief ro-ro (roll-on, roll-off) or the traditional position known in our house as “dead maid”, they were not all very up for what I call “event sex”. So, in answer to your question, from your point of view, what’s not to like? You are paying for a service. I can’t speak for the service provider, but I will say this. Many feminists, among them Julie Bindel and Hadley Freeman, think that what you’re doing is not that different from rape, and call themselves Swerfs – sex worker exclusionary radical feminists. And many men with pride would shudder at the idea of paying a woman to pretend to enjoy congress with them, or the premium service of “the girlfriend experience” (where she pretends to really like you too). They cannot kid themselves that the woman isn’t doing it for the money, she’s even actually enjoying it, and enter the suspension of disbelief that other men can achieve.
Then of course there are the men who don’t imagine the woman is enjoying the experience, but don’t give a damn. After all, as someone once said, “I don’t pay them for carnal encounters – I pay them to leave.” As you write, you decided not to have children and your wife loves walking your black labs in the West Midlands countryside, while you have hookers on the side. Sounds idyllic, in its way, I suppose. But ask yourself this: would you really want any daughter or niece or granddaughter of yours to say, “When I grow up I want to be a sex worker”?
