IN SHORT
- Adventurous Gail was more scared of half-living than she was of death.
- With her 70th birthday approaching, and five years without sex, she wanted to do something to make her feel alive.
- She contemplated jumping out of a plane, but settled on hiring a male escort!
- When the experience left her feeling disappointed, she did something unexpected.
- Here, Gail Rice, 72, from Sydney, NSW, shares her story…
Swiping through photo after photo of shirtless men, my heart sank.
They’re all young enough to be my grandson! I sighed.
It was 2024 and, just months away from turning 70, I was contemplating hiring a male escort.
I’d never imagined paying for sex, but I dreaded entering the land of the elderly.
I was terrified I would disappear – not only to others, but from myself.
Dying didn’t scare me, but half-living did. I needed an adventure to scare me alive.
Read more: After years of abuse, I hired an escort… and something remarkable happened!
At first, I considered skydiving.
Then a psychologist friend suggested hiring a male escort.
“I have a client who tried it and had a great experience,” he said.
Living with osteopenia, I figured an escort was safer for my bones than jumping out of a plane – even though getting naked in front of a stranger terrified me more.
I’d given up dating at 65, tired of apps and men more interested in talking about themselves or finding someone to fill the space left by a former partner.
I loved my single life, filled with my career as a psychologist, travel and friends. But without a partner or children, I missed touch.
After five years without sex, I decided to do something about it.
Scrolling through countless 20-somethings online, I eventually found Mitch*, an escort in his 40s.
He seemed attractive and friendly, and getting to know him over the phone put me at ease.
I want an orgasm and an erotic massage, I emailed him later.
Happy to deliver, he replied.
I booked three hours with Mitch on the eve of my birthday, forking out $1850 for his services and a hotel room.
When the day arrived, I got there early, pampered myself with a bubble bath and champagne, then slipped on my old first-date lingerie.
Meeting Mitch in the foyer, I was excited. He was warm, handsome and articulate.
As we chatted over champagne, I slipped into interview mode – a habit when I’m nervous – peppering him with questions.
“My younger clients want the hot sex,” he explained. “Older women usually want the boyfriend experience – cuddling and kissing.”
After an hour, I grew impatient.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“Maybe a kiss?” Mitch replied.
But kissing felt clumsy and stiff.
“How about that erotic massage?” I asked.
After we undressed and laid in bed, Mitch poured oil over me and repeatedly stroked my stomach in a way I found irritating.
When I asked him to stop, he cuddled me and rested his head on my shoulder.
I didn’t pay $1850 to take a nap, I thought.
Twenty minutes before the session ended, I’d had enough.
“I don’t think this is working,” I said.
“I’m devastated,” he replied. “I’m so sorry.”
After he left, self-doubt crept in.
Of course he wouldn’t find me attractive, I thought.
But soon, something shifted. The part of me that refused to fade away also refused to let me blame myself.
I’d paid for a service and, in my eyes, Mitch hadn’t delivered.
The next morning, I emailed him to tell him I wasn’t satisfied with my experience.
PS, how about a refund? I wrote.
Absolutely, he replied, transferring the money minutes later.
I believed Mitch was a decent man who’d probably assumed I wanted the boyfriend experience, like many of his older clients.
But the encounter taught me something important: I could ask for what I wanted without shame.
A few months later, I wrote about the experience at a writing workshop.
I’d dreamed of publishing a memoir but hadn’t written seriously in 25 years.
“I think this could be published,” my teacher said.
When the Sydney Morning Herald agreed to run my story, I was stunned.
The response was astonishing.
Good on you! one woman said. I’ve never been able to ask for what I want.
There were cruel comments, too.
Poor man, look what he had to work with, one person wrote.
Their criticism ignited a fire in me.
Hiring a male escort 2.0
I was determined to hire another escort – to prove to myself I deserved sexual pleasure regardless of my age.
Luckily, a reader in her 60s recommended Chris*, an escort she’d seen six times.
“He really makes me feel desirable,” she said.
Four months after meeting Mitch, I booked Chris for two hours.
After hearing about my previous experience, he reassured me he only took payment afterwards, once satisfaction was guaranteed.
I was nervous, but the experience was completely different.
Chris was attractive, engaged and took the lead.
“I think we’ll start with the erotic massage,” he said.
The connection was instant, and the two orgasms he gave me were amazing.
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“How do you do this job?” I asked afterwards.
“I just really like women,” Chris replied. “I think men would know what women want if they would listen.”
But showing up for myself was even more satisfying.
This time, I didn’t interview him. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and enjoy the experience without shame.
Afterwards, I felt proud of myself for prioritising my own desires without apology.
The experience inspired me to keep exploring my desire for touch through sensual massages and sessions with a tantric healer.
I wouldn’t rule out hiring another male escort, but now I’m focused on challenging myself – including finally writing my memoir.
My escort story has been shared on news websites and podcasts around the world and I’ve realised my voice matters.
I’d been terrified turning 70 meant I would disappear.
Instead, asking for what I wanted, saying when it wasn’t enough, then finding the courage to ask again made me feel more alive than ever.
I hope my story inspires other women to do something that scares them.
It’s never too late to take a leap into the unknown – and remind yourself that your voice and desires still matter.
*Names have been changed.
