And that insight comes from none other than a Wall Street hooker.

I'm single and don't know if I could ever get married after sleeping with so many married men — more than I can remember. It doesn't exactly give me faith in marriage.


The first time or two, I looked at their wedding rings the whole time and they always noticed and then got nervous, as if my guilt was making them feel guilty. So I decided not to look at their hands.They want to talk a lot more than you think. They want to vent about their kids' private schools, their bosses, their bonus talks, their friend beating them at squash. I didn't even know what the hell squash was at the time. Talking, talking, talking, as if their lives were harder than mine and I wasn't the one there to have sex with them for money. I started feeling resentful of them.

I got into it when I first moved to New York and desperately needed money to survive. Sam, who ran the first escort service I was with, told me when we met that some guys pay $2,000 an hour. I thought he was exaggerating, but I decided to try it. My stomach churned so much before I got picked up the first night that I was constantly going to the bathroom.


But after a few months it became exhausting. They have big egos and are big babies. If I made any sign that they weren't the best lover, or that their dick wasn't the biggest dick I'd ever seen, they started asking all these questions and putting me down like: "Oh, well you've just seen more cock than a normal, nice girl would."

No, actually, you're really small and you're bad in bed.

One guy, who said he was a bigwig at a global investment bank, came in his pants when I started undoing his belt. It was so awkward. He had been talking up how good he was in bed in the cab ride to the hotel from dinner, and when that happened, he freaked out. "That never happens! You must have done something to me," he said. Like it's never their fault.