A little over a year after taking over the day to day workings of our family farm, I met this pretty, reserved raven-haired woman in the town near our village. She was a couple years younger than me. I would see her around and about when running my errands, sometimes passing by her walking along the sidewalk when I drove in for work or was walking about our main market for groceries. We soon found ourselves looking at, and checking out, each other from afar, when our paths crossed.

One morning I decided to ride my horse into town instead of taking my car. As we trotted our way back home in the glorious sunshine, she came along the road, alone in her car, towards us. As she slowed down ahead of me, to give me room and pass by, she and I stared intensely into each other’s eyes until she had passed by and our eyes were forced to break contact. I felt an electric connection with her. She was unlike the rest of women in our area, and I correctly suspected she was not originally from around our area.

These encounters went on and off for some months, just us glancing at each other, never saying anything more than a smile and exchanging silent wonderment between us. She had strong facial features, a nice body shape and dressed on the playful side, although she did not show much skin apart from her knee-length dresses she usually wore – but it was her jet black shoulder-length hair with a slight wave in it that always caught my attention. If she had any identifiable style to her, it would have been closest to a toned-down rockabilly and 1950’s style.

One day I was working in one of our barns when I heard someone riding up our lane on a squeaky old bicycle. I poked my head out and saw it was her.

Her name was N and curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. She had been asking around about me, what I did, where I lived. She told me I was difficult to track down. No surprise as I had purposely kept to myself since returning back home as I had the property and house to myself – but some long-time locals, who knew me growing up as a child, ended up pointing her in the right direction. I went and got her some coffee from inside the house, and the two of us spent the afternoon sitting on the field fence talking.

N was different, perhaps because she was the first woman – first anyone – I had met since I had left my familiar youth (and sex) scene who had no ties whatsoever to it. Unlike the women in town and our area who still remained from our childhood days, most who had since settled down in marriage, or knew me as that oddball goth kid, she was new, unknown, and a blank book. She had moved to our country from Hungary as a young child, now finding herself relocated to our town due to her job posting. She had moved here around two years after I had first left home.  

Even before I met her, I was unsure about my past and how it would come to play in any relationship going forward. I had kept myself sexually inactive since leaving Mistress R and had kept to myself socially. I took it really slow and distanced myself physically with her over the next while as we met up more frequently, and I could tell she sensed something was on my mind and kept us at arm’s length.

One evening that summer she had come over to visit after work and we found ourselves sitting outside on the porch as the sun was going down. Up until then we had not initiated any physical contact, but this particular evening we found ourselves sitting next to each other on a wicker loveseat swing that hung from the house stoop overlooking our field and barns.  

Naturally and effortlessly, N took my hand. I jumped and pulled it back from her, in surprised shock, and she seemed taken aback by my sudden negative reaction.

‘What’s wrong? Sorry, I thought you like me?’ – ‘I do… but before we think about going on any further, I really need to tell you some things about me, about my past, because I don’t know how this may work between us if you find out later.’

I then came out to N and explained my secret sexual nature and my secret past – as well as how I had been trying to put that all in the past and I was now trying to write something new in my life, although I was unsure exactly what that would be. I confessed I had not been looking for anyone but our frequent encounters in passing had made her impossible to ignore.

Thankfully she was open-minded enough that I soon became comfortable with telling her my story. I did not want to lie to her and so I left out no details or toned down the explicitness. At one point I went inside the house to retrieve some of the black and white photographs (posted in my albums) I still had from those days, to prove to her my story. If she was someone I was going to become serious with, and wanted to become serious with, I wanted her to know exactly what broken goods she was getting in return.

When I had finished telling my story, I could tell she was overwhelmed by the rawness and unusualness of it all, but never once did she come across as judgmental or cut me off. She could have just got up and walked away, which I wondered through it all if she would do at some point, but she didn’t. She heard me out.

When I said all I needed to say, I sat back, looking at her, and said, ‘There you have it… all I ask is that you keep all this between us because I feel I can trust you enough to do that. And after hearing all this I have just told you, if you feel you don’t want anything to do with me, I totally get that. I leave it with you to accept or reject me.’

N sat there silent for a couple minutes, now in the dark, thinking to herself, as we gently swung on the wicker chair.

She then, finally, spoke: ‘What you did in the past, is now in the past. Look, I’m not into any of that stuff, but so be it if you were. What I am more concerned about, here and now and in the future, is your bisexuality or whether you would stray with other women. If we do get together, I want us committed in a monogamous relationship. For example, how would you cope with not being able to have sex with men, as long as we are together?’

I suddenly thought back to the Moneybags, and when Mrs. Moneybags was explaining their own situation to me. I wondered if this was how it was like for them in their youth trying to cobble out their own relationship situation. Now I found myself in a similar situation.

‘I don’t know, to be honest, if it bothers me or not anymore. Since I returned home here, getting it on with men, or getting it on with anyone, actually, hasn’t been a concern of mine. I don’t socialize in town. You have been the only person I have spent any time with outside of my own immediate family. You and I know this area is not particularly friendly or open to homosexuality and displays of it, so that alone has probably helped keep a lid on me.’

‘As for the women here, I grew up with and around almost all of them – you’re the exception. If I never connected with any of them before, it is not going to happen now. The ones who aren’t married yet, aren’t really relationship material, if you get my drift.’

‘That said, alone in bed sometimes I do find myself stroking myself off thinking about my old boyfriend or the black chauffeur I told you about, or looking through a gay porn magazine I still keep hidden away…’

I paused for a few seconds before then adding, ‘…that is, those times when I haven’t been alone in bed thinking about you’. She broke a shy smile of appreciation as she thought about what I had just said, before replying.

‘I really like you, and I really appreciate how you have been completely honest and upfront with me. I agree with you, it is slim pickings around here – for men and for women – and neither of us have anyone else competing for our attention, so let’s see if we can make this work between us. I’d rather try and fail, than possibly lose someone I would later regret not trying and losing.’

She then added, ‘As long as you are loyal to me and do not sleep around with anyone else, man or woman, then I don’t have a real problem if you find you need to daydream or read porn to help release any of your other urges you find you need to deal with. Just keep it to yourself in private, and out of my sight.’

‘However, if you do find yourself struggling to cope, please talk to me about it first. I don’t want you to be hurting inside. And if you find you are going to stray with someone else, at least give me respect to tell me up front first so we can mutually and amicably end our relationship. Okay?’

I smiled back, this I could live with. ‘Okay, let’s give this a go.’

Perhaps to seal our agreement, she then leaned over to kiss me, but I stopped her and put my hand up to her lips. ‘No, not now. Explaining this all has been heavy for both of us. Let’s stop now and just go home right now, our separate ways, and sleep on it. That’ll give you one last chance to back out, and if you decide not to – then tomorrow or then next time we see each other, you and I begin with a new fresh day.

Two days later she rode up our lane. I saw her coming and waited for her to stop her bicycle in front of me. She smiled at me as she leaned it up against the fence.

‘Good morning, N!’ I said to her, while she replied ‘Good morning!’ as she put her arms around me and we kissed. Some months later, she moved in with me and we were married in small ceremony on our farm.

* * * * * * *

In early 2013 an appointment related to our farm found me needing to go to the same big city where I had done my sex work, the first time I had returned there since leaving those days behind me.

Before I made my trip, I sat down with my wife N to discuss my upcoming trip, as she knew the significance of the location. I told her that while I was there, I wanted, for my own curiosity sake, search out all that had happened over the years, to see if I could track down any of those I had been intimate with – first and foremost, Mistress R. I was simply curious to find out if she was still in business or what she had gotten up to since. Nothing more.

Finding myself now back in my old city of sexual sin, it felt strange. Much of it seemed familiar although I now felt I did not fit in the surroundings I now found myself back in.

I asked around the same daytime haunts that we had frequented, in the hopes that Mistress R still resided or worked in the area and still patronized them. When I had earlier phoned the previous numbers I knew, or went by her studio office, she was no longer answering nor there. I had success at the same coffee shop from that rainy day when Mistress R first made her offer to me. The manager working there, knew her and I managed to get a new phone number. Within half an hour, we were catching up on each other’s past dozen years.

As she explained to me, five years after I had left her, Mistress R – or, rather, now just R – had gotten spooked when her studio office got raided. She was unsure who ratted her out, but while she managed to talk herself out of anything serious, she decided right then and there it was time to quit that line of business. She always meant to do it ‘for fun’ as well as keep others safe, but over the years it had gotten bigger than she had anticipated – and now she felt vulnerable and it was time to move on.

She admitted she could understand now why I needed to leave when I did, because my gut was telling me it was the right time. Hers, too, had told her the same thing.

She sold off her office space, her partner shares in the night club, and buried herself out of sight in her daytime work. In time she met a woman whom she married a few days after gay marriage was made legal in our country.

I then asked her if she had any news or knowledge about the others.

Mr. EU and Lady M she had lost contact when she closed down, while she still bumped into Miss F through their mutual day jobs. Miss F was still ‘Miss’, still searching for her man. She had continued to ask about me in the months after I had quit, but with Mistress R unaware what had happened to me, after a while she stopped asking.

But while fate may have been sad to Miss F, as for the Moneybags, their years since those days had been more tragic: Mrs. Moneybags became suddenly ill and passed away the year (2006) after Mistress R had wrapped up her business affairs while Mr. Moneybags, now alone, then sold their mansion and his shares in their business before moving overseas – R had heard no other news since then about him, or whether he too was still alive. (I since found through recent online searches both Mr. EU and Mr. Moneybags have also passed on).

As for my old boyfriend T, she had lost contact with him a couple years after I had left, when he too moved overseas, to Asia, marrying a local woman he met and settling down there. They had written for a while until one day the letters from him just stopped.

We clinked our wine glasses and toasted them all. ‘Has it really been that long ago?’ one of us asked as we talked for hours about those days, which had seemed a haze for me in the years that follwoed, was all now vivid again.

Then at some point during our time catching up, one of us asked the other: ‘do you miss or regret those days?’

Our mutual consensus was that it had been an interesting, fun experience, but also something that neither of us would likely repeat if we were re-living our lives. Perhaps both of us had been naïve at the time to the dangers we may have put ourselves in.

I told her that, if anything, if I were back in my youth now but reliving those days, I would probably explore doing porn instead of prostitution (we did not have easy access to digital media back in those days) – while she said that she had enjoyed and still sometimes missed her dominatrix side, but she would not do the madam aspects. She said she was surprised she managed to stay out of attention and out of trouble with the authorities (or organized crime) for as long as she had. While how prevalent digital media had become in the years that had passed, she felt it would be impossible now to maintain the privacy and discretion that she desired and required.

When it was time for us to go our separate ways, we made promises to try stay in contact – but the distance between our homes as well as our life situations so far has made that our last meeting.

When I got home a couple days later, with my memories now revitalized from my meeting with R, I talked to N again about those days as well as convey what all I had learned since from R. At that time I decided to write down my recollections so I would not forget them again, as it was a remarkable experience.

Perhaps one day, I thought to myself, I would share my three years of sexual sin with a wider audience – although some details obviously cleaned to preserve mine and others’ privacy and discretion.

My writings transcribed here which I have shared with you, are the product of those notes… my adventures as a prettyboy whore.

END / ENDE / FIN