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Instead I have a boring life and a boring job and from time to time to spice things up I tell my husband stories of different clients. I placed a personal ad with the offer to meet a client at a hotel for a private lap-dancing session.

I had been a dancer for three years, but had started to hate going to the clubs. I enjoyed the sensuality and intimacy of the job, but hated the crowds, noise and cigarette smoke. The ad stressed that the sessions would be dancing only.

I asked that we meet first in a public place, for a cocktail or coffee. I phrased this as "us getting to know each other", but it was basically to give my gut a chance to tell me whether I would be safe with the person.

I was polite, but firm about all of my requests. Very few of the initial responders followed up with me after this, but the ones who did sounded respectful and sane. The first client I met was a guy from out of town. He sounded very nervous in the emails we exchanged, and I wasn't sure he would actually keep the date we made that evening at a smart bar. The first thing he told me was that he was not going to go through with our date, but he felt bad about standing me up and would buy me a drink and tip for my time.

We had a drink together and I drew him out about what he was looking for. As a dancer, I know lots of ways to set men at their ease and encourage them to open up to me. He told me a familiar story: I've heard many versions of this story, and it always makes me sad.

He told me that I was too young; I was 28 and he was He talked about how much he missed touching and holding and looking at a woman. We kept talking about the human need for intimacy, and I could tell he did want the meeting. We went to his room. It was a very nice room, in a nice hotel.

It was much more intimate than dancing in the club, where there are lights and noise and distraction. We had a pleasant, playful time, and ended up spending several hours together. He paid me at the end and counting out the money seemed to kill the mood for both of us a little bit.

I made a mental note that if I did this again I would ask for the money up front. Afterwards, he offered to drive me back to the bar and I felt safe enough with him to accept. The drive was slightly awkward. He seemed to feel odd about dropping me off on the street. I wondered if he was having regrets about the session. He was rather cold when he said goodbye, and I was surprised to notice that I felt a little hurt. This was the only time during the session when I felt "dirty" about what I'd done.

I felt he was judging me. I made a conscious decision not to let this bother me: I probably wouldn't see him again, and it was just a business transaction, so it didn't really matter what he thought about me. I would offer this advice to clients, though: You're not the only one who has feelings about what just happened. In my post-university slump, I felt like my life was in the drain. Now that I was in a new city, the area strip clubs were more plentiful.

I went to one "audition". The girls were snorting coke in the dressing room, and the bouncers seemed more malicious and oversexed than the customers. I did not go back. I remembered a roommate I had in university who signed up as an escort through an online service. I drove two hours to his house, white-knuckled in anticipation of what I was about to do.

He was middle aged, pretty average-looking — balding, in OK shape. I don't want to seem flippant when I talk about the sex.

There was nothing special about it except for the fact that it was the first time in my young life that I was literally prostituting myself. In retrospect, my opinion of prostitution is that it is fine if you have straightened it out in your head as to why you are doing it and what you get out of it, but you are risking your safety and your health.

Can you charge a price high enough to compensate for that? And the sex was nothing I remember anything about. He left his television muted on CNN the whole time. My biggest concern was that I had very little experience and that it would show I had only had sex a couple of times in my life.

My next worry was that I would not be able to fill a full two hours with sexual entertainment. It was not that hard. Most people are easy enough to talk to, and once the sex is over it is just pillow talk and back rubs. After two months, I started scheduling dates with men and then not showing up. I was starting to get real about why I was having sex with men for money. I had been feeling rejected by a former lover, and I was angry about being in debt and was discovering that my university degree was essentially worthless.

I felt like being destructive. My last job scared me out of it for good. He was a short bald man with a big spare tyre and smelled of cigarettes. He asked if he needed to wear a condom about half of the men asked this. I put the condom on him, and then he spun me around and pushed me up against the dresser.

The force of this manoeuvre was unexpected. Welcome to Sex Qs, a weekly column where The Globe's Amberly McAteer seeks answers to your sex questions, talking to sexperts and regular Canadians alike. Last week, I told a reader seeking sex advice to "never, ever — ever! He had been given the "green light" from his wife, who has admitted to a low libido, to have casual, non-monogamous sex.

I urged him to try harder with his wife, but, if he had to, seek a casual arrangement with a willing party on the Internet. The contrarian responses were fast and furious: If he's looking for sex without the emotions, the e-mails and online comments and phone calls argued, a professional, monetary transaction is the way to go.

Everyone has a talent! I had not a clue this would cause an uproar. I thought most people were on the same page — I mean, we're talking about reducing someone's daughter to a paid means for sexual enjoyment. So I felt it important to clarify, to dig deeper into these pro-prostitution beliefs that had rattled me for days. This debate isn't about the criminality of sex work, a heavy and complex subject filled with grey areas — that's a matter for the Supreme Court of Canada, which is currently battling all sides of the debate.

At issue is what values embody worthwhile sex, and my philosophy is this: Whether it happens during a one-night stand, a summer fling, a friends-with-benefit arrangement or a life-long marriage, there must be a base human connection — two willing, interested humans agreeing to a good time — and a special, intimate experience.

Stephen de Wit, a sexologist I talked to last week about what makes good sex and with a PhD in human sexuality, he knows a thing or two about good sex.

Even a casual, Internet-brokered one-night stand would be good for my reader in need, de Wit says. So putting a monetary value to this encounter, like getting your carpets cleaned or your nails done, removes all the fun.

She's not there because she finds you attractive, charming or seductive, so what's the point? The reader may not be looking for love — but he is looking for good, mind-blowing sex.

I've never been into a strip club, for related reasons: I'd likely end up talking the ladies into attending night school, or walking my dog for a nominal fee. Yes, I write this from my middle-class pedestal. I've never fallen on life-threatening hard times, but I know this: Women, every single one of them, are worth more than their bodies. In an ideal world, everyone would see that. But clearly, I'm a newbie in this world.

In the interest of exploring all sides of the debate, I tracked down a friend-of-a-Facebook-friend who agreed to talk to me about his experience with prostitutes — or "prosties" as he called them — and why he frequents a Toronto brothel. Tim, a divorced year-old from Mississauga who hasn't had free sex in over six months, met me at a pub. I was shocked at how easy it was to find someone with personal experience and didn't know exactly what to ask. Thankfully, he wanted to share. He admits that "regular sex" would be a better option, but says it's difficult to meet people in his circles.

Still, "doing it with someone I see a lot … that'd be better I guess. He tells me about his lost love, his ex-wife. His eyes light up when he talks about their honeymoon heat — but they darken again when the conversation turns. He starts ranting about one lady in particular at the "house" he frequents.

His emotional attachment to her is clear "she's pretty and really sweet, you'd like her, I swear" and he genuinely thinks she cares about him.

What about your safety?

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