'At 70 I hired a male escort for the first time. Then I asked for a refund.'

When I turned 70, I hired a sex worker for the first time. I'd wanted to do something exciting to celebrate the milestone birthday.

It was a choice between parachuting out of a plane or hiring a male escort — either would give me the adrenaline rush I craved. I wasn't going to drift casually into the next decade.

A session with an escort cost three times more than jumping out of a plane, but I figured there was a better chance I'd survive it. I wanted to see if I could wake up my body again —without free-falling at 120mph strapped to a stranger.

Watch: The Mamamia No Filter Podcast on Anna Grosman's male escort agency. Post continues below.

I paid $1,750 to spend three hours with an escort named Mitch*. But instead of feeling awake, alive, and recharged, I fell asleep — not from post-orgasmic bliss, but from boredom. A total flop. The only good news? I wrote and asked for a refund. He said yes. Point to Mitch.

I shared my experience about the rendezvous online. While many said I was brave, the anonymous trolls fixated on my audacity to ask for a refund. They felt sorry for the "poor bloke." Poor bloke? At $550 an hour?

Apparently, a woman spending money on her own pleasure is either brave or disgraceful — but if she demands her money back when the service isn't delivered? Unthinkable.

After that failed encounter, I pushed my desire for touch and sexual pleasure into a dusty, dark corner of my mind — half-convinced I'd asked too much. It was easier to remain in the predictable solitude of my life than to strip myself bare, emotionally and physically, before a stranger again.

But three months later, I had an epiphany. The encounter wasn't just about sex, or who I had it with. It was about how I'd spent a lifetime negotiating with my own desires — toning them down, reasoning them away, convincing myself they were shameful, or that I had no right to them in the first place. 

And when I did dare to want something, I felt the need to justify it. To defend it. To laugh at it before someone else could. That's why the refund mattered.

It wasn't just about getting my money back — it was about reclaiming something I'd too often let slip away: the right to ask for what I want. The right to name my disappointments. The right to say: "No. That wasn't good enough." And most importantly, the right to ask for better.

A kind woman emailed me the name of an escort she'd been seeing for six years. Chris*' website looked promising. He offered satisfaction guaranteed — or a full refund.

I was more hesitant this time. Maybe the novelty of my first attempt had made me naive. The idea of another failure felt heavier. Curling up with a good book would have been easier. But I didn't. I made the call.

Daring to be vulnerable again felt terrifying. This wasn't just about sexuality or sensuality — it was about asking clearly for what I wanted. Not hinting. Not hoping. Not pretending I didn't care.

I booked another hotel. Bought another bottle of champagne. I knew the drill.

Chris was easy on the eyes — mid-forties, tall, with unruly curls and a calm, grounded presence. He had the quiet confidence of someone fully at ease in his own skin.

I poured the champagne; we clinked glasses. I told him about Mitch — the boredom, the disappointment, the refund — and what I wanted: an erotic massage and an orgasm. But this time, I didn't charm or manage or fill the space. 

He asked the questions. I let myself be the focus. No caretaking. No smoothing the edges.

After a few sips of champagne, I invited Chris to take the lead— and he did. The massage was slow, attentive, and he wasn't in a rush. I wasn't bracing. I wasn't watching myself. I was simply there, inside my body.

My skin remembered what I thought it had forgotten. I didn't hold back. When something felt good, I said so. When it didn't, I said that too — without tiptoeing around his ego. I wasn't there to please. I was there to feel.

At one point, I kissed him. Not to signal anything or create a moment — just because I wanted to. It was simple. Direct. Entirely mine.

Later we chatted — about ageing bodies, sex and desire, books and movies. We laughed. We giggled. And somewhere in the middle of all that talk, I forgot I was naked, with a man I'd only just met.

The air between us was light and easy. I felt relaxed. Alive. Seen.

Chris didn't just show up. He was present — with me, for me. Yes, he gave me what I asked for. But more importantly, he reminded me I was still capable of asking. And receiving.

I haven't seen Chris again. That's not the point. What matters is knowing what I want is possible. That it exists. That I don't have to explain or apologise for it.

Now, with more time behind me than ahead, I'm determined to keep asking. Not apologising. Not softening. Not waiting for permission.

To say: I want.

Not: Would you mind if…

Not: Only if it's okay…

Just a clear, simple thing:

I want.

When people said I was brave, I didn't understand. But now I do. It takes courage to name what you want — and to speak up when it falls short.

In the end, it wasn't about the sex. Or even about the adrenaline rush. It was about trusting myself. Listening. Honouring what I need. Daring to be vulnerable.

I used to soften my needs to keep the peace — tiptoeing around them, afraid of seeming difficult. I'm learning to ask. Because needing something doesn't make me difficult. It means I'm finally listening to myself.

At 70, I'm no longer willing to wait. Or shrink. Or explain myself to keep others comfortable. Apparently, I am not alone. There's even an acronym for this niche: MEOW—Male Escorts of Older Women. 

We're a demographic now. Who knew? And yes — I still have Chris's number. Maybe a treat for my 71st.

If there's anything I'd offer to other women — especially older women — it's this: Wanting isn't the problem. Staying silent is.

Ask. Even if your voice shakes. Especially if it does.

And if you need a little push — book the room, pour the champagne, and dare yourself to show up.

Gail Rice is a psychologist who is currently working on her memoir.

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