I’m an Escort in an Open Marriage. Here’s What It’s Taught Me About Relationships.
When people picture an escort, they often imagine a single woman navigating the industry alone. The stigma around sex work can make relationships seem incompatible with the job—many partners simply can’t handle the idea of their loved one entertaining clients professionally. Yet here I am: a married woman who looks forward to coming home after a session, where my husband pours me a glass of Sancerre while I count my earnings.
We met online, like so many busy professionals do. I began escorting just a few months into our relationship. There are certainly pros and cons to being partnered with a sex worker, but they aren’t the dramatic ones most people assume.
I’m fully out about my work to everyone in our circle. My husband is a fintech executive in an industry that tends to be progressive, so my career isn’t a source of tension. In fact, some young software engineers find it “cool” that he’s married to a high-end escort. That said, broader societal judgment still lingers. In most social situations, we either downplay my job or steer conversations elsewhere—it makes people uncomfortable, or they bombard us with questions that take over the evening, which neither of us enjoys.
Before escorting, I spent a decade on Wall Street. Transitioning my corporate skills to the world’s oldest profession felt like a natural pivot. With the mindset (and interests) of a stereotypical investment banker, combined with an attractive appearance, I had strong marketing material for high-end work. I speak four languages—Chinese, English, Spanish, and Arabic—I’ve traveled to over 60 countries, collect scotch, enjoy racing sports cars, and was once a competitive MMA fighter. It’s the kind of profile that appeals to a certain clientele.
When I told my husband I was leaving finance to become an escort, his response was pragmatic: “Oh, I think you’ll be very successful at that. Do you need help with your website?” We’re both highly rational people with low sexual jealousy, which helps immensely.
My old job demanded 70-hour weeks, constant stress, and being tethered to a BlackBerry. Now I work perhaps 20 hours a week—if that—for comparable income, far less stress, and genuinely wonderful clients. My husband supports this because he loves me and wants me fulfilled in my career. Some of my colleagues have had to quit sex work when entering relationships with partners who couldn’t cope. For us, my job is just a job, no different from any other—he’s simply glad I’m happy.
A key reason our marriage thrives is that it’s non-monogamous. We’ve been open from the start; monogamy never crossed our minds as the default.
Many escorts maintain monogamous relationships, but that’s not my path. Through my work, I’ve gained profound insights into relationships, and one of the clearest is this: cheating is incredibly common, but divorce isn’t inevitable.
It’s nearly impossible for one person to fulfill every need—sexual, emotional, intellectual—for their partner forever. The person you build a family with may not share all your desires or interests. Clients often seek experiences their spouses can’t or won’t provide, not because they want to end their marriages, but because they want to preserve them. In a way, sex workers help fill gaps that keep relationships intact.
In my personal life, I have a girlfriend I met at a photoshoot a couple of years ago—she’s also a sex worker. While my husband and I prioritize our primary relationship but see others, she’s polyamorous with multiple equal-priority partners.
My husband craves variety, much like many of my clients, while I’ve mostly limited my non-work encounters to him and my girlfriend in recent years. He pursues casual dates; I spend time with her. We’ve even hired sex workers together to avoid the awkward “unicorn hunting” dynamic some couples face on apps.
Our one guiding principle: work comes first, then each other, then everyone else. We both genuinely love our careers more than anything—including each other. That said, openness doesn’t mean zero expectations. When he once stepped away during a vacation in Argentina for a long conversation with another woman, he ended up on the couch that night. Jealousy exists, but it’s not always sexual—sometimes it’s about time and attention.
People often assume non-monogamy breeds endless jealousy, but it’s more nuanced. My husband and I get more envious of each other’s professional skills than of romantic or sexual connections. He jokes that he’d love to get paid for sex like I do, but he’d never match his tech-executive salary that way. I get jealous when he effortlessly debugs my code after I’ve spent ages on a syntax error.
Monogamous people sometimes view non-monogamous couples as less committed. In reality, my husband and I feel deeply committed and in love. Because we have options, choosing each other feels deliberate—daily, even hourly. Commitment for us isn’t about excluding others; it’s about growing together while knowing what else exists.
Many monogamous couples compromise on desires when they marry, prioritizing exclusivity over fulfillment. That’s a valid choice for them. But my marriage—and the hundreds of clients I’ve met—have shown me that commitment doesn’t require monogamy.
As an escort in an open marriage, I interact with diverse people regularly, yet I still choose my husband every day. We intentionally build our life together, aware of alternatives. Our arrangement may seem unconventional, but it suits us perfectly. We’ve always been independent thinkers who make our own rules—both in our careers and in love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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