A Postmenopausal Prostitute

Betty Dodson's picture
Sat, 07/26/2008 - 19:06
Submitted by Betty Dodson

In 1980 when I became postmenopausal at fifty, the dreaded marker of old age seemed nothing to fear because I'd never felt better. My hot flashes were like mini-heat orgasms that I thoroughly enjoyed. During this time I was a committed single with no desire to form another serious relationship. My selfloving sessions along with sharing orgasms in the monthly masturbation workshops formed my sexual base. I'd also have the occasional date with a woman or man with or without partnersex. Close friends were my extended family and except for my usual problem, lack of money, life was good.

It was early afternoon when my neighbor Scarlet who lived downstairs called me. She sounded desperate. A girlfriend was going to join her for a professional threesome and had just canceled. Although she'd asked me to do a double with her several times in the past, this time I surprised both of us by saying yes. Besides curiosity, I could think of no better way to defy the image of aging than turning my first trick as a postmenopausal woman. Scarlet's client paid $200 an hour for each woman. Because she'd made the date, she kept $50 out of my fee, which was only fair. After years of running workshops, I was fully aware of the work that went into enrollment.

That afternoon at four, I arrived at her apartment and was introduced to Marvin. He was wearing a black negligee, sheer black panty hose, and size twelve silver slippers. His wig was very much like Scarlet's real hairdo: tons of flaming red hair cascading over their bony shoulders. In his late sixties, Marvin was a sight to behold while Scarlet, whose age she would never reveal, looked gorgeous in her blue satin negligee with matching pumps. Both of them were wearing tons of makeup.

Under my metallic raincoat, I wore my belt with the silver cunt buckle, boots, and nothing else. With short hair I looked like a little macho dude who had two drag queens to entertain. I was up to my ears in tits - one set foam rubber and the other pair real. Marvin always had to get stoned before sex, which pissed Scarlet off because afterward he had to sleep off his high for at least an hour and she didn't get paid for his nap time. Our foreplay was a lot of theatrics posing and dancing in front of her many mirrors with me admiring my two femmes.

She'd already told me they always had sex the same way. I'd been instructed to play with myself, an easy gig for a professional masturbator like me, while Scarlet took care of him. Marvin laid down on the bed and she straddled him with her long slender legs folded on either side of him. Handling his small penis daintily with jeweled fingers and long painted nails, she inserted his little pink pickle inside her neatly trimmed pussy. Lying next to him, I was ready to get off with my vibrator, but two minutes after I'd started buzzing, it was all over. Scarlet pumped up and down a dozen times and Marvin emptied his nuts with hardly a groan - then promptly fell asleep.

After a few more doubles with Scarlet and different men, one of them said that he'd really enjoyed reading my book "Liberating Masturbation" and asked if I'd autograph his copy. Scarlet later admitted that she'd been describing my workshops to sexually arouse her clients. The loss of anonymity took the fun out of it for me. I no longer had the freedom of operating as an undercover agent. Not because I was afraid of ruining my reputation - after going public with masturbation my image was already shot. However, the idea of being anonymous offered a special kind of freedom, like Halloween when we can wear masks and act out any role we choose.

Throughout the eighties, I traveled to San Francisco every August to be part of the Advisory Board of Xandria, the second largest sex toy company. While there, I'd also run a workshop. I celebrated my next birthday with Sharon, one of my girlfriends who took pride in being a professional sex worker. She knew most of the other prostitutes in the Bay Area and they would share their clients with each other. The word would go out among them whenever there was a creepy guy to avoid. Again my role was the anonymous masturbating voyeur who did hot talk while the younger woman provided her client with oralsex, or the occasional penis/vagina sex.

I'll never forget this one session with a big good natured black dude named Gus. He was one of Sharon's regulars. That afternoon she dressed me in white lace lingerie: bra, panties, a garter belt and thigh high hose with heels. I felt about as comfortable as a straight man cross-dressing for the first time. In those days, I owned one dress that was seldom worn except to weddings and one pair of low heeled women's shoes. The rest of my closet was filled with sweat pants, jeans, tops, jackets and boots.

While Sharon and Gus were fucking, I was doing hot talk. He was pulling off some smooth moves as he slid his big dick in and out of her knowledgeable cunt with style. She told me that she loved fucking him. While I was commenting on his great technique, Gus stood up and faced the mirror at the head of her bed. I was standing behind him and could see his reflection perfectly. With a dozen strokes on his cock, he shot a load that traveled a good five feet and splattered against the mirror. I dropped my vibrator and broke into a round of enthusiastic applause while Sharon joined in. Actually I felt like paying him for the great sex show I'd just witnessed.

My other friend Joyce had a client that showed up during his lunch hour with a shopping bag filled with gourmet food. This quiet unassuming business executive took great delight in preparing a delicious meal for us. Again we were dressed in lingerie. During the meal we talked about sex and cracked jokes. When Mr. John stood up, unzipped his fly, and presented his erect cock, Joyce removed her bra. He stood in front of her, gently placed his penis between her big boobs that she squeezed together and began to fuck her cleavage. Positioning myself to the side of her chair, I watched and played with myself. It was such a sweet scene and he was such a nice man. Later Joyce said he'd been married for twenty-five years, had four grown daughters and still enjoyed sex with his wife once a week.

Believe me, I learned a lot about the buying and selling of sex in America during that decade. Sharon, Joyce, Vickie and their other girlfriends who also turned tricks didn't fit the stereotype of the fallen woman who was a drug-addicted victim. They were educated women who were all independent prostitutes. None of them had pimps and several were investing their money wisely. The part I loved best about a man paying for sex was how it balanced out the fact that women didn't get equal pay for equal work. Men wanted sex and women needed money. That made prostitution a fair business deal. The sexual exchange was negotiated, the fee agreed upon, and everyone walked away satisfied.

When men paid for sex, most of them were extremely polite and very appreciative of the sexual attention they received. In many ways, the dozen or more clients I'd met had better manners than many men I'd dated. The one big draw back to prostitution, besides its illegal status, was being on call and waiting for the phone to ring. When men wanted sex it was always "now" unless of course he was a steady client who showed up on a regular basis. Some of the women liked this arrangement best. Their clients were middle and upper class married men with a sprinkling of rich guys. One wealthy playboy who made the rounds of the San Francisco prostitutes was single with a steady live-in girlfriend who would occasionally join him for a paid threesome with one of the girls.

It was clear why monogamy didn't pose a serious problem for that many men. The double standard allowed them to pick a virginal type of woman for marriage and children while they had sex with the "bad girls:" beautiful prostitutes and mistresses who'd learned how to be good at sex. These men were able to maintain their respectable images in the community of being faithful husbands and fathers. Meanwhile, sex workers were socially ostracized and forced to live outside the law without any legal protection or social status while they provided sexual pleasure for billions of good old boys - ain't love grand?

Toward the end of the eighties, Scarlet made another desperate call when her girlfriend cancelled out on a three way. This time I seriously needed the money to help pay the rent. Joe was a steady client, late-thirties and fairly good looking. Again I did hot talk while Scarlet gave him a blow job, a skill she took great pride in. The next time we were doing a threesome, Joe complained about my outfit. He didn't think I looked sexy in my black leather g-string, so Scarlet dressed me in one of her lace bras and panties. When we came back into the living room, he was still scowling. Obviously he'd had a bad day and intended to take it out on us. I got dressed and left Scarlet to attend to His Majesty. The combination of needing the money and this jerk's nasty disposition ended our threesomes and my sex worker investigation came to an end.

It became clear that a prostitute with steady johns was like having several husbands that constantly had to be pleased but without any of the privileges that went with marriage. My friend Margo St. James who tried to decriminalize prostitution in the seventies got it right. She said the difference between prostitution and marriage is that a wife sells her body permanently while a prostitute rents hers. However, every property owner knows what a pain in the ass some tenants can be while renting. At least marriage offered a return on your investment with some kind of a settlement following a divorce. Some women have gotten rich by marrying and divorcing wealthy men. When I got divorced, I only wanted out and expected nothing from our seven year marriage. Freedom was its own reward but I did get a year's paid vacation which was spent enjoying partnersex full time.

My prostitution experiment made me realize how grateful I was to be working with women, helping them to become more orgasmic. So what if it didn't pay as well? It was rewarding in many other ways. The difference between what prostitutes did and what I was doing was a matter of degree. They were focused on pleasing each client; facilitating his fantasies and getting him off. I was teaching women how to please themselves through masturbation techniques. I thought I qualified as a sex worker, but my prostitute girlfriends disagreed. They felt my workshops were legal because my clients rendered their own services. I thought the only reason I'd never been busted was because we were all women. In the eyes of the law, a group of women couldn't be that important.

One thing was consistent: Every time I got paid for sex, I felt appreciated, not degraded. Society's view of prostitution is what degrades women. Unfortunately, feminists and reformers see the selling of sex only in terms of women as victims and while some are, we forget the vast number of wives who are also victims. I know women today who view selling sex more like having a date that is fun as well as profitable.

Sexual hypocrisy has been elevated to a science in America where most people are living double lives. Outwardly we pretend to be happily married monogamous couples while men and a few women are secretly getting laid at conferences, buying professional sex, having extra marital affairs and availing themselves to the many forms of sexual entertainment where they live and when they travel. In my opinion, the buying and selling of sex needs to be decriminalized along with changing the marijuana laws. Just because a bunch of uptight religious folks aren't having any fun, it's time they left the rest of us to our own pleasures.

Excerpt from Betty's Unpublished Sexual Memoir
© Copyright 2008 Betty Dodson