The Price of Bought Passion

Alright, that’s it! I’m going to do it! Enough chickening out! I’m twenty-three already, and I’m still a virgin! What a disgrace! Some girls have already been married a couple of times and have two kids, while I can’t even get past first base! This time—no more talking, straight to action! And less thinking. Thinking is bad in this case! I just need to go with the flow and let the man seduce me. After all, he’s getting paid for that! Twice already I’ve thrown money to the wind. At this rate, I’ll go broke, and my so-called “honor” will stay perfectly intact. No, no, no—away with it! I don’t need that kind of “treasure”! Maybe if I knew what it was like to actually be with a man, I wouldn’t bury my brain in dry formulas at work all the time. Maybe I’d even try to build some kind of personal life. And when the right guy comes along, I want to be at least a little prepared for it—and not shaking like a coward. Better my first time be with a stranger who knows exactly what he’s doing and can make it beautiful, than what happened to my friend Marina. She slept with her boyfriend when she was seventeen—and not only was it, as she put it, “terrible, clumsy, and barely worked out,” because he had no idea what he was doing either—but the jerk went around bragging to everyone afterward that he’d “won a bet” by taking her virginity. And she actually loved him. So it hurt her twice as much. You can’t blame her for turning into a total b***h after that—angry at the whole world. We’re still friends, probably only because we’ve known each other since childhood. I don’t have time to make new friends anyway. I don’t need that kind of emotional rollercoaster! With my lifestyle and workload, there aren’t many men around me to begin with. I don’t have time to go out searching for the one—the so-called “worthy man” who deserves my purity, as some women like to call it. And honestly, at twenty-three, it already feels awkward to admit to anyone that I’m still a virgin. So yes, this is my well-thought-out decision, and I see nothing shameful about it. It’s not going to make anything worse—in fact, I’ll get it over with and move on, with minimal losses. Right? This whole idea came to me after one of my clients got a little too honest during her beauty treatment and told me about an interesting website called “Pepper dot com.” She’s a stunning, wealthy, and confident woman — old enough to be my mother — and as it turns out, she often uses that site’s services. Specifically, she orders herself handsome young men for private meetings. Being an extremely busy woman, she doesn’t waste time hunting for random lovers or boy toys who might ruin her marriage. Her husband, as she admitted, isn’t exactly capable of performing miracles in the bedroom anymore, while she’s still a fiery, passionate woman overflowing with energy and desire. “For me, it’s the perfect solution!”, laughs Alevtina as we wait for the warming mask to take effect on her face. “You pay, you get pleasure, and that’s it — no strings attached. No one begging you afterward for an apartment, a vacation, or expensive gifts. I’ve been there, done that!” She says it knowingly, like a woman with experience. In the beauty industry, clients tell their masters a lot. So at this point, I’m not even surprised by anything anymore. “And the boys there are really nice,” she continues. “Plenty of variety, too. Who said only girls can work in escort? Guys are in high demand! My friends love the service as well!” At first, I was just curious and wanted to keep the conversation going. After all, Alevtina has been my regular client for two years now. She feels completely at ease and trusts me. And as we both know — whatever is said in the beauty room, stays in the beauty room. “So… how do you even choose a man from the site?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “First, you register,” she explained. “You can use a nickname instead of your real name. Everything’s quite confidential — as long as the payment goes through. You set the date and time for your meeting, by the hour or for the whole night. Then you simply mark your preferences — you know, like classic, oral, anal, domination, b**m, and so on.” My eyes widened in shock at that point. Thankfully, her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see how bright red my face had become. “Then,” she went on calmly, “you describe the kind of man you want — tall, short, blond, brunette, muscular, bald, hairy, whatever. The site sends you photos of men who best match your preferences and are currently available. After that, you pick the one you like — or even two, if you want — and they send you the details of where your meeting will take place. The deposit is charged immediately and non-refundable, and the rest you give him in person after the ‘date.’” Alevtina said all this as casually as if she were explaining how to order food delivery. “Well, I don’t really need it… I was just curious,” I said, blushing like a schoolgirl. After a moment’s pause, I added with a laugh, “You know… asking for a friend.” “Oh, Vicky,” Alevtina chuckled again — this time with a trace of understanding and even sadness in her eyes. “There’s nothing terrible about it. If I’d found that site earlier, I’d have saved myself a lot of nerve cells. You young girls — you still crave emotions, feelings, all that pink romantic nonsense. I want that too, but for my soul, I already have my husband. I love him, he gives me warmth, care, affection, romance… all of that. But the truth is, he’s a chronic impotent now, and I still have normal female needs — pure lust, physical release. That’s where these boys-for-a-night really help.” Her words stuck in my head like a tiny, restless worm. Usually, clients’ chatter leaves my mind as soon as they step out the door, but this time… something about it got under my skin and made me think. Alevtina said those “boys” were experienced — very experienced — and definitely worth the money. Each one, like a purebred dog, even carries a medical booklet with all the test results and health checks, even though they always use protection. Maybe… there’s something to it? I’ve been rushing my whole life, always running somewhere. My photographic memory helped me finish school externally at fifteen, and by eighteen, I had already graduated from university with a red diploma in biochemistry. After that, I completed several professional courses in cosmetology and devoted myself to the beauty industry. At first, people were skeptical — I looked so young, practically like a high schooler. But I started producing my own skincare line — creams and serums for face and body. Those first brave clients who trusted me enough to try my products were thrilled! Word spread fast — and as everyone knows, word of mouth is the best kind of advertisement. Within just a few years, I had a steady stream of clients and a solid demand for my products. I’m proud of my cosmetics — I don’t cut corners. Everything I make uses natural, high-quality ingredients. Most of my clients are wealthy women, so I feel pretty confident financially and have been supporting myself for quite a while now. My parents aren’t poor either — they’re always eager to help — but it feels much better to know I can take care of myself, live on my own terms, and not have to report to anyone. Although… honestly, there’s not much to report. You’d think that living independently, earning well, and having no obligations would mean I’m out there living my best life — but nope. That’s not about me. About a year ago, one of my regular clients, Olga Petrovna Kosheva, suggested I try working at her husband’s company. They specialize in pharmaceuticals and vaccine development at a scientific institute. And that’s how my lab days began. It’s a private company, the pay is good, and in my free hours I still take a few clients at the beauty salon. I had to cut down the number of appointments — kept only my most loyal and long-term ones — but the sales of my skincare line are still going strong. So, as it turns out, I have zero free time… and not even the slightest hint of a love life. But I still want to feel alive — to live fully, not just exist — so I made up my mind to take this unusual step. If I like it, maybe I’ll use the service again, at least until I meet someone truly right for me. That way my heart stays safe, my time doesn’t go to waste, and they promise genuine pleasure. However, that all sounded much easier in theory than in practice! When I finally registered on the site, blushing to death, I filled out all the required fields, paid the deposit, and received the address for the meeting. But when I actually met him — that incredibly sexy man — I completely chickened out! He didn’t insist on anything. We just… talked. About nothing in particular. He introduced himself as Nazar — polite, calm, charming. If I didn’t know the real reason we were meeting, I would have simply thought he was a perfect gentleman. He’s gorgeous, that devil! Tall, fit, tanned, green-eyed — a true dark-haired god of temptation! But the moment we kissed — that hot, dizzying kiss — I started sweating and trembling like a leaf in the wind. In the end, I canceled any further “physical involvement,” paid the full price, and ran away. Great. Just great. What if he had been a guy I actually liked? What a disgrace! But I didn’t give up. A week later, I booked another session — and, yes, I chose Nazar again. My logic was simple: if I’m going to embarrass myself, it might as well be in front of the same person. Yet, even the second time… I couldn’t do it. I must have looked utterly pathetic because he even offered me a discount for his service — without the actual service. But today, everything will be different. It has to be. I’m going to do this and finally put an end to my ridiculous fears! I arrived a little early and checked into our hotel room first, hoping to calm my nerves and, let’s say, ease into the mood. The room already had a small table set — an opened bottle of wine, a carafe of water, glasses, and a plate of fruit. Perfect. Just what I need for courage. I poured myself a glass of wine and took a couple of generous gulps… when I heard a knock on the door. That’s it. No turning back now!