‘Sex work is decriminalised – and my time with Samuel is subsidised by the government’: This is how we do it in Australia

Susan, 59

Every month, I pay Samuel £840 to meet me for four hours in a Brisbane motel room. I always book the same motel, because it’s wheelchair-accessible: I’m paraplegic, so I have certain accessibility needs. I make sure to arrive early, so I can do my makeup. We’ve been meeting this way for a year, but I still feel a flutter of nerves as I’m waiting for his knock on the door. As soon as I set eyes on him, I feel calmer. He has a gentlemanly, soft way about him, which is what attracted me when I found his escort profile online. He always arrives in a button-down shirt and jacket, and he is never quite clean-shaven. We start with a chat and he mixes me a cocktail. Then he carries me into the bedroom.

I’m not sure if the motel staff know that Samuel is a sex worker, but I’m not bothered if they do. In most of Australia, sex work is decriminalised – and my time with Samuel is even subsidised by the government. At the end of each session, Samuel sends an invoice marked “support worker” to my plan manager at the national disability insurance scheme. In 2020, a woman with multiple sclerosis won the legal right to get the NDIS to pay for her sessions with a sex worker. Reading about that case gave me the idea of meeting an escort.

The term “support worker” is vague, but feels right to me. I do feel supported by Samuel. When I contacted him, I was recovering from a nasty separation. I’d been with my ex for a decade, and his approach to intimacy had been rough and unfeeling. Single again at 56, I didn’t feel hopeful about meeting another man. Trying to date as a wheelchair user makes you very vulnerable. If I go home with someone and he takes advantage of me, I can’t run away or fight back.

Being paraplegic, I feel exposed – but also invisible. I’m a sexual person, but a lot of men simply look through me. Samuel sees me as a sexual being. He works with a number of disabled clients, so isn’t afraid to put me on top or experiment with acrobatic positions. He’s got a beautiful, sturdy body, what he describes as a “dad bod”. I looked at other escorts online but they were all so buffed-up and young – the thought of being with a man like that made me feel insecure. Samuel is greying in a lovely way; he’s in his late 40s and has depth.

I never lose sight of the fact that there is a boundary between us. I am aware I pay to see a shiny, perfect version of Samuel and, in a way, I am relieved I’m not burdened with a full-time relationship. I’ve given too much of myself away to men in the past. I don’t think I would want to see Samuel more than once a month. Apart from anything else, I don’t have the stamina.

Samuel, 45

It is not a prerequisite of this job to feel immediate desire for your client. I’ve learned to hyperfocus on one thing about the client that does attract me – their eyes, or the way they laugh – and build desire that way. But I feel a lot of genuine attraction for Susan. She is glamorous and funny, and over the past year we have become close. We always start with a long talk on her motel balcony, and I’ll arrange a platter of fruit and cheese for us to snack on. Some male sex workers take one-hour bookings, but my average is four hours. My speciality is the “boyfriend experience” – I provide conversation, food and drink, as well as sex.

I had rheumatoid arthritis as a child, and a motorbike crash in my 30s has left me with daily pain. I still walk with a stick sometimes, although I have made a relatively good recovery, and my mobility issues are not severe. After the accident, I read an article about sex workers who see disabled clients and thought: I could do that. I didn’t consciously choose this line of work because of my disability, but perhaps that’s why the article struck a chord with me. I thought a lot about what it must be like to want touch and connection but to be overlooked. I had very little money at the time, I was single and I had just hit 41 – so I was open to radically changing my life.

My main concern, at the beginning, was: who the hell is going to want to pay me for sex? The male escorts I looked up online were all under 30, and all had eight-packs. One of my first clients requested that I wear a smart shirt, so she could fulfil her fantasy of slowly undoing my buttons, which terrified me. A lot of women ask for that, and it still makes me nervous. I worry they will get to the last button and ask for their money back.

I’m still a little sheepish about taking my shirt off with new clients, but five years of doing this job has improved my self-esteem. The name Susan calls me by – Samuel Hunter – is not my real name, but I think of him as a kind of improved me; an extra-attentive version of myself. For the four hours I am with Susan, her pleasure is the sole priority. I always wear Calvin Klein undies and a spritz of cologne for my bookings.

Callout

I work so many hours that it’s sometimes difficult to separate Samuel Hunter from who I really am. I try to be so emotionally and physically present with clients that I only have the energy to binge-watch Netflix when I’m at home. Recently, I cut down my availability, so I could have more time to nurture my personal life. But I don’t have plans to retire. Most of my clients, like Susan, are regulars – and I feel invested in their lives. I’ll keep working as long as the phone keeps ringing.

• Samuel Hunter volunteers in an administrative role at Touching Base, an Australian charity that connects people with disabilities with sex workers.