At 29, my boyfriend of two and a half years turned round one day and told me he didn’t want a long-term relationship. He was living in my house and everything seemed perfect, but he was three years younger and had had an epiphany that he still wanted to travel the world. It was predictable. It was painfully unoriginal. I was crushed.

He moved out to start his new life – drinking the same pints in a hotter climate – and though I wasn’t ready for another boyfriend, after a few weeks, I craved some fun and excitement. I needed sex. I needed skin-to-skin contact and the rush of flirting.

I work a 9-5 office job for a marketing company in Brighton, which did little to get my mind off my loneliness, so I downloaded all the dating apps. But it felt hopeless. Casual dating in your mid-twenties is exhausting enough, but on the cusp of your thirties? Excruciating. There were the men I was stuck in perpetual pen pal status with, who ghosted me as soon as I applied the pressure to actually meet up. (Really, why is this a thing?) There were the men who turned up to dates looking nothing like their profile. There were others I knew I had zero sexual chemistry with from the moment we locked eyes. I felt defeated. These apps only caused me distress and one-night stands were hardly worth the next morning awkwardness on the pleasure front. Was it too much to ask to have a period of time focused on myself, having fun with friends, but also getting laid with a man I fancied, who didn’t want commitment, yet popped over to satisfy me at my every whim? It seemed so.

Four months after the breakup, my friend convinced me to take a look at the escorting site Envvy. She’d worked on it as an escort herself for years and told me to consider ‘ordering’ a guy to get the sexual ball rolling. We were a few margaritas down at a bar and she assured me that people who pay for sex aren’t just losers who can’t get a shag in normal life. ‘I’ve had young clients, even quite hot ones,’ she said, ‘It’s usually about the thrill.’

Later that night, I tucked myself up in bed, vibrator at the ready for another Saturday night of solo masturbation, and paused. I decided have a quick browse of the escorting site instead. Obviously, I was curious. As I scrolled down the never-ending images of men in my local area, there were some guys I wouldn’t go near, but there were some I most definitely would. Photos ranged from mirror selfies in their underpants, to professionally edited photos that spoke of experience. Abs were plentiful.

Could I follow through with this? I’ve always thought of myself as a bit of an awkward prude, but perhaps now was the time to push myself out of my comfort zone. Albeit in the wildest way possible.