IN her latest movie, Emma Thompson plays a 55-year-old who hires a sex worker with the sole aim of having her first-ever orgasm.

Here, Jane*, a 56-year-old married PA from London, says she too pays an escort – and it’s worth every penny.

As I was taken by the hand and led into the hotel room, I felt overwhelmed with nerves and excitement.

Here I was with a gorgeous man nearly 20 years my junior who certainly wasn’t my husband. After pouring two glasses of wine, he unzipped my dress and started kissing my body from head to toe.

I instantly let go of all my old hang-ups, forgetting about my wobbly tummy and cellulite as he built me towards my first orgasm in decades. And it was worth every penny of the £300 an hour I was paying him to pleasure me.

A mum of three and grandmother of five, I’d been married for 35 years when I met Scott*, 39, having never slept with anyone other than my husband James*, 62. I’d never even had my head turned by anyone else.

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I was only 19 when James and I tied the knot, and while I loved him dearly, our sex life was never anything to write home about. I’d lie on my back every now and then while he pumped away on top of me, but it was more for him than for me.

There might have been one or two orgasms early on in our relationship, but they were few and far between.

As the years passed, we did it less and less. I never really enjoyed it and would make excuses, blaming the menopause or a headache. I didn’t even masturbate – it just made me feel awkward and uncomfortable.

I loved James’ company and our life together, and despite the lack of passion, we ere happy.

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But in recent years, I’d seen friends divorce and meet new men. I’d watched how it changed them – and I wanted a bit of that for myself.

Then, at a friend’s house in February 2019, I saw an article in a magazine about a male escort, which made me think: “What if?”

It became a bit of a fantasy and, from time to time, I’d Google what was out there.

After a couple of months, I stumbled across a website advertising the services of a male escort called Scott. The way he wrote about himself seemed very sensual and, on a whim, I sent him a message.

Later that night, I was sitting watching Holby City when my phone pinged. It was Scott, suggesting a first date to discuss what I wanted to get from his services. He said the “consultation” would cost £150.

Working as an executive PA in London meant I’d built up some savings, and thought: “What’s the harm?” Some women spend more on one dress or a haircut. 

I paid up front before we met in June 2019 at a bar in south-west London. I wanted to be somewhere busy, but where I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew.

I’d seen Scott’s photo on the website so I knew what to expect. He was good-looking, 6ft, toned and athletic and had a welcoming smile.

I felt nervous, and had spent ages getting ready, trying to make myself look my best. I’d pulled out a black dress I hadn’t worn in years – I wanted to look trendy but not over the top.

Part of me was terrified he’d bolt when he saw a slightly tubby woman in her 50s pull up the stool next to him, but Scott was charming and friendly and put me at ease. Immediately, I felt some chemistry.

He said often it was a good idea to spend a bit of time getting to know each other before “jumping into anything else”.

We had drinks and chatted about our interests. He asked questions about me and what I liked.

Over the next few weeks I met Scott twice more for drinks, each time paying £150, but we agreed the fourth date would be different.

For the first time in years, I felt like someone was listening to me. Scott explained we could go as fast or slow as I wanted. It felt like a dream, as if – like Emma Thompson in Good Luck To You, Leo Grande – I was playing a part in a movie.

Over the next few weeks I met Scott twice more for drinks, each time paying £150, but we agreed the fourth date would be different.

We met at a hotel bar and, after a couple of glasses of wine, he suggested going to my room, which I’d booked and paid for in advance, telling my husband I had a work event.

I was wearing a long blue dress with a zip up the back and new lingerie.

I didn’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, but I had started taking more pride in my appearance.

It’s hard to put into words how sexy Scott made me feel.

He wasn’t put off by my wrinkles or wobbly tummy. He told me I was beautiful.

We kissed and touched for around an hour before finally having sex. I was so turned on by this point and it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

Scott was gentle and paid attention only to my needs.

Scott was gentle and paid attention only to my needs. It was slow and sensual and a completely new experience for me, with Scott suggesting positions I’d never tried before. When I orgasmed, it was mind-blowing. 

Finally, I could see why some people seemed to enjoy sex so much. I’d paid him in advance, so when we parted company there was no awkward handover of money. 

I’ve continued meeting Scott nearly every week since then, apart from during lockdown. 

That was a hard time for me, though I did give myself a bit of self-pleasure – something else 

Scott has taught me.

Other aspects of my life got better, too. I lost weight and felt happier at home. I found I loved my body, despite its wobbly bits! 

These days, my sex life with James is also better as a result.

We do it more often – maybe once a month compared to twice a year – and I try to be more confident, though not so much that I arouse his suspicions. 

Sex is sex. As for the health risks, Scott always wears a condom and we always practise safe sex. 

Sometimes I feel guilty about lying to James.

Before this happened, if I’d found out he was seeing a prostitute, I would have been sickened and thought he was a dirty old man. But I’m more understanding now.

Sex is sex. As for the health risks, Scott always wears a condom and we always practise safe sex. 

I do have to be careful to cover my tracks. We rarely message, always arranging our next date in person and I have him saved as “Fiona” on my phone.

I tend to meet him for a couple of hours after work or at lunchtime, or I pretend I’m going shopping on Saturday mornings.

I’ve probably spent more than £20,000 on Scott, but I’m not in love with him and I don’t dream of running off with him.

I don’t ask about his other clients, I don’t know very much about his life and he doesn’t know much about mine.

I’ve not told a soul what I’m doing. I’m still “Grandma” to my family, doing puzzles with the grandkids and making everyone tea and cakes. 

If I were found out, it would destroy my marriage and my kids would disown me.

It’s hard knowing that truth, but I’ve devoted all my life to caring for them; this is something I’m doing for myself – I feel I deserve it and it makes me happy.

I’ve never once thought about leaving my husband. I still love him, but I value myself more as a person than I did before. 

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For years, I could barely look at my own body in the mirror without being disgusted by it.

Now I see it as a way of finding genuine bliss, and I’ll always be grateful to Scott for teaching me that. 

*Names have been changed  Photography: Allstar

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