I've spent close to €20,000 on escorts over five years. Not something I'm proud of, but also not something I'm entirely ashamed of. The math haunts me sometimes. That's a car. A kitchen renovation. University fees. Instead, it's been spent on two hours here, three hours there, with women who pretend to care about me.
My wife doesn't know, of course. And before anyone judges, our marriage isn't dead. It's just... dormant. Functional. We share a home, financial responsibilities, a social circle. But intimacy? Connection? Those disappeared years ago.
Each encounter costs between €250-€400. I'm not getting some cut-rate experience. These are professional, discreet women who understand the transaction isn't just physical. They sell companionship, a momentary illusion of being truly seen. Sometimes that's worth more than the sex.
The economic calculation is complex. It's not just money. It's time. Discretion. The emotional energy of maintaining these connections. Creating fake email addresses. Ensuring my digital footprints are clean. Protecting my professional reputation.
Would I recommend this lifestyle? No. But I understand why men like me do it. Loneliness is expensive. And sometimes, the price feels worth it.