It’s a deeply unsettling feeling, a knot of shame that tightens with each passing, unsatisfying encounter. As a certified sex expert, someone who dedicates their professional life to understanding and fostering intimacy, the inability to connect with my own husband in the way we once did feels like a profound personal failure. Where did the spark go? What invisible wedge has driven us apart in the bedroom? The raw truth is, our current struggles seem inextricably linked to a past I thought we had both embraced, a past that now casts a long, disheartening shadow: my former life working with London escorts at City of Eve Escorts.
The memory of our initial connection is vivid, almost jarring in its contrast to our present reality. He was a police officer, and our first encounter was far from romantic. A bust for public indecency, involving one of my then-boyfriends. It was during the subsequent interview at the station that the subject of my profession arose. I confessed that I worked for a London escorts service, a revelation that, to my surprise, seemed to ignite a strange fascination in him. He let me go that night, his line of questioning less about professional conduct and more about the intricacies of the London escorts world I inhabited.
Looking back, the signs were there, perhaps too obvious to recognize at the time. He asked for my number, and a few days later, as my shift with London escorts was ending, he called, suggesting a drink. We talked for hours that night, the conversation punctuated by his probing questions about my work, about the agency, about the clients. I remember telling him about my impending transition, my plans to leave London escorts behind and pursue a career as a sex expert. His smile was enigmatic, and when he asked if he could date me, I readily agreed, drawn in by an undeniable allure.
There was an undeniable sexiness about him, an edge that I now understand was likely fueled by my association with London escorts. He would constantly make suggestive remarks, playful yet persistent, hinting at that aspect of my life. Asking if I would “escort” him to the station, a thinly veiled invitation to the bedroom. And truth be told, I was excited by it. Our initial intimacy was passionate, fulfilling for both of us, a connection that extended beyond the physical.
Two months before I officially left London escorts, he proposed. We married quickly, while I was still working, and our sex life remained vibrant. But the moment I transitioned out of the escort agency in London, the dynamic began to shift. First, he blamed himself, a vague sense of inadequacy that he couldn’t quite articulate. Then, the blame subtly shifted towards me. His struggles with erectile dysfunction, he suggested, were somehow my fault. If I had remained within the realm of London escorts, things would have been different, better.
The failed attempt on the kitchen table was a desperate act, a clumsy reach for the passion we once shared. Since then, a heavy silence has descended upon our bedroom. He comes home later, his explanations vague, and a chilling thought has begun to take root: is he seeking the connection, the thrill, he once found in my past, with someone else from the London escorts scene? Was his attraction solely predicated on that aspect of my identity?
As a sex expert, I feel an acute sense of irony, a frustrating inability to diagnose and treat the issues within my own marriage. I suggested therapy, a meeting with a colleague, but he refuses, his resistance another brick in the wall that seems to be growing between us. A painful realization is dawning: perhaps the foundation of our relationship was never truly about me, but about the fantasy, the forbidden allure of a woman who worked for London escorts. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge that our paths, once intertwined, are now diverging, and that I can no longer ignore the disheartening truth: I seem unable to satisfy the desires of the man I married.