Charlie Sheen (actor) and Tiger Woods (athlete). Eliot Spitzer (politician) and Ted Haggard (pastor). For better or for worse, these men have at least two things in common: They’re all culturally influential, and they’ve all spent time with sex workers.

Escorts, cam models, porn stars, and exotic dancers are all types of sex workers, and sex work is just another type of service labor – you pay someone some sum of money for a set amount of time or service. Pretty standard. People often freak out about sex work though because, unlike getting your hair cut or talking to your therapist, sex work necessarily involves some form of sex-related activity. And we (still) love to act outraged and self-righteous about sex in our society.

Many people seek out sex workers’ services, including high profile cultural leaders and celebrities. Unfortunately, we don’t generally hear about these exchanges unless some sort of scandal or tragedy goes along with them. This got me to wondering: What are sex work exchanges with noteworthy people like in the absence of catastrophe?

I spoke to Malorie, which is not her real name (nor is it her professional pseudonym). She has been a sex worker in various capacities for over ten years, and I asked her what it’s like to interact with powerful, famous people. Here are some of the stories she told me, which I can verify are true by the evidence that she shared with me, which was a requisite for this article to be published. I didn’t ask her about money intentionally, opting instead to focus on the interpersonal exchanges involved in sex worker celebrity hook ups.


I met him at a golf tournament in Nevada, and he was a total cock – arrogant and full of himself – so of course I was a total bitch to him. He asked me to dinner almost immediately.

I met him later that night in the penthouse, which was just gorgeous. He’d ordered [food] up to the room – “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got everything,” he said.

“Well, I like steak, but I don’t eat meat off the bone. You’re gonna have to cut that up for me,” I told him. He was shocked, but he was also hooked.

He kept trying to impress me, talking about his work and whatnot. At one point he pulled out a copy of [a very significant magazine] he was on the cover of. “That’s stupid,” I said. “Who even reads magazines? You should let me spank you with it. That’s all it’s really good for.” So he pulled down his pants…

Afterward, we talked about politics and finance. It was a really good conversation. I never thought I’d hear from him again, but we ended up speaking about once a month for a couple of years, and I was his date at a few events. Sometimes we just watched TV. He was obsessed with sharks, so one time we watched Shark Week. The last time I saw him he’d ordered up to the room again. Only this time he pre-cut my food.

It’s funny. The meaner I was to him, the more he liked me. He didn’t like the idea of his authority being questioned, but he liked that I stood up to him. I hear that a lot, especially from people who work as pro-doms. Most of their clients are CEOs, powerful business people and executives – people who are surrounded by “yes men” and beautiful women, but what they really want is for someone to call them on their shit – someone who doesn’t want anything work-related from them.


I was in Las Vegas with a friend for a professional athlete’s birthday party. There were a bunch of celebrities there, including the magician.

He came up to us immediately. I had an idea of who he was but had never seen his show. My friend, on the other hand, was a fan. He kept trying to impress us by talking about all his toys, which I thought was really immature. Eventually we went back to his place.

He kept trying to be smooth. “This is boring,” I said. “Entertain me! Show me a magic trick,” which he did. It was actually really cool, but I didn’t let him know I thought that.

Eventually we went down to the buffet. People were staring, and he wouldn’t shut up about himself. At one point he was talking about his [very expensive car.] “I want to drive it, let’s go,” I said, and I got up and walked out.

He trotted after me like a puppy, directing us to the garage. Eventually we came across a giant poster advertising his show. He stood in front of it, kind of posing – “Do you like my new poster?” he asked.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “I gotta go,” I said and left him standing there. “But the car?” he called after us. I kept walking, which was probably a good idea because I can’t actually drive a stick.

He called me non-stop for the next two months, offering me whatever I wanted to see him again, but I never did.


I was headed overseas, at an East Coast airport on a layover, when all of a sudden my pussy went off – That’s a band, I said to myself, checking out a group of guys who had just entered the terminal.

They’d obviously just come from a show, makeup still on and everything. I was sitting there trying to figure out who they were when one of them looked right at me. It was like in the movies, you know, when two peoples’ eyes lock and electricity shoots across the room. And wouldn’t you know, that’s who I was sitting next to on the plane.

He’s the guitarist in [a highly successful band]. And though he had a serious girlfriend and an image to maintain – and in spite of myself – we fell hard for each other over the next six months. But it was the same old thing: a successful guy acting one way on the outside and needing something totally different in order to be himself.

One time, I had him tied up in a hotel room, and he was telling me about his sexual fantasies. “I really want to have a threesome,” he whispered, almost embarrassed but also so turned on. “Well, I can totally hook that up. Let me make a call,” I offered. To my surprise, he freaked out, “What if [whoever you call] tells someone?!”

Later on, when I was watching one of his shows from backstage, I looked out at the audience – women, young girls there with their dads, that kind of crowd. His girlfriend, who was sweet, was perfect for his image. I would just ruin it. That night, I ended our relationship. We were both crying – “I love you too much to let you leave!” he said. “But I love you too much to stay,” I said as I left.

Though we often don’t want to admit it, norms and social pressures are very real. Everyone is shaped in some way by wider ideologies telling us how to work, how to think, and how to have sex. And as people become more public and high profile, these pressures intensify.

“The running theme here,” Malorie tells me, “is that you have these people who connect with people in the adult industry – escorts, cam girls, whatever – because we’re the only ones who they can be themselves with.”

In many ways sex workers are a sort of pressure relief system for social and cultural inconsistencies. But to what end? Are we sustaining hypocrisy and inequalities by, for example, allowing a preacher to spout gay hate while simultaneously banging a male prostitute a la Ted Haggard? And in a world that often criminalizes and generally disrespects their labor, what impact does being society’s sexual safety net have on sex workers themselves?

In Malorie’s case, it’s a world without surprise – a place where nothing related to the human condition is bad or good. “Think about it,” she said, “Short of where the body’s buried, what’s the worst thing someone can tell me? That they want their asshole licked? So what. I’ve heard it all before, I’ve seen it all before. Nothing shocks me.”

That these sex worker celebrity hook ups exist shouldn’t shock us either.


(pictured: image via Playboy)

Reprinted from (11/2/15)

And ICYMI, you can read all my work featured on Playboy dot com right –> here

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