Confessions of a retired male escort

The world of the male escort

For more than 15 years, NZ Rent Boys has supported male escorts and the work they do. We’ve had hundreds of escorts list with us and service clients from all around New Zealand. But it’s not always easy work or easy money. We asked one of our popular retired male escorts for the inside goss on what it’s like on the front-line!

The rest of this post is what he wrote for us …

How I prepped for my first-time male clients

Ah, the glamorous life of a professional male escort — part James Bond, part boy next door, with just a pinch of therapist and a dash of GQ model.

Now that I’m retired, I can spill the tea. Let’s talk about how I used to prepare for those all-important first-time male clients. Because believe me, nothing says “professional” like being freshly showered, safe, and just the right amount of seductive.

Grooming: The fine art of looking effortlessly perfect

Before a booking, my bathroom would look like a high-end salon had exploded. We’re talking exfoliating scrubs, beard oil, manscaping tools, moisturisers that cost more than my weekly groceries — if it promised smooth, glowing skin, I had it.

A typical prep session went like this: shave (unless he requested scruff), trim the hedges (never a jungle, never a desert), and moisturise like I was entering a skincare competition. And don’t get me started on scent — one spritz of cologne, never two. The nose knows, and nobody wants to be overpowered by Eau de Desperation.

Hair? Immaculate. Teeth? Flossed, brushed, and whitened. Breath? Minty-fresh with backups in the pocket. Clothes were always clean, well-fitted, and tailored to the client’s preferences (I once wore a bow tie and nothing else — don’t ask). I treated myself like a five-star product because that’s exactly what I was selling.

Cleanliness is next to sexiness for escorts

Cleanliness wasn’t just about appearance — it was a ritual. I always took a hot shower just before leaving, even if I’d showered an hour earlier. Every part of me got the VIP treatment. And yes, I’m talking about those parts, too.

I kept my sheets crisp and clean for in-calls, and I never touched a client’s space without fresh clothes and fresh energy. Clean body, clean attitude, clean everything. Nobody pays for “meh.”

Safety for escorts: My number one client was me

Look, being an escort isn’t all steamy glances and sexy banter — it also involves a healthy dose of common sense and a survival instinct sharp enough to spot trouble before the door even opens.

First meetings always took place in neutral, safe locations unless I’d vetted the client thoroughly. If I was going to a hotel or home, I texted a friend the address and set up a “check-in” protocol. If I didn’t reply within a certain time, the cavalry was on standby.

I trusted my gut. If something felt off — even if the guy looked like Henry Cavill’s long-lost brother—I made an excuse and left. No amount of money was worth my safety.

I also had a “go bag” with essentials: condoms, lube, wet wipes, ID, cash, and my phone fully charged. It was like Batman’s utility belt, but gayer and sexier.

The mental game: Nerves, expectations, and a wink

First-time clients were often nervous, and truth be told, so was I — just a little. Would we click? Would he be respectful? Would I be his dream or a letdown? That’s where experience, charm, and a decent sense of humour came in handy.

I always walked in smiling, made easy small talk, and read the room. If he wanted fantasy, I gave it. If he needed a kind ear, I listened. I wasn’t just there to “perform” — I was there to connect, even if only for an hour.

Final thoughts from an old escorting pro

These days, my only appointments involve a recliner and reruns of RuPaul’s Drag Race, but I still remember every little pre-date ritual like it was yesterday. Being a professional escort wasn’t just about sex — it was about presentation, respect, safety, and sometimes, making someone feel seen for the first time in a long time.

And that, my friend, takes more than a six-pack and a good cologne. It takes heart. And maybe a spare toothbrush.

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