escort diary® of Devina Jade: Chapter Three - Different Men, Same Story
Six months in, and I was no longer a baby call girl (or so I led my ego to believe)
I was her — the one who travelled the country in heels too high and lingerie too expensive, my dual profiles on Private Girls and Cracker ensuring my inbox was full and my pre-bookings were secured before I even stepped off the plane. I was wanted, I was in demand, I was her!
I had built a name. Not just locally. Nationally.
Men whispered about me across city lines I had clients in nearly every state. Flying business class across boarders and even women were interested in me — which was definitely a new taste for me.
But somewhere along the way, I let her take over.
The alter ego. The curated version of me…
Confident. Unfuckwithable. Always composed, always in control. Always on.
It’s a strange thing when your stage name starts living your life for you. I forgot who I was — or at least, I stopped checking in with her.
Here’s the thing no one really tells you: When the hotel beds all start to feel the same, when the compliments blur together, and the dirty talk sounds like a recycled script…You start to crave something else.
Something more.
I’ve never been the type of woman who enjoys monotony.Routine is for the rigid.Mediocrity makes my skin itch. And yet here I was — different men, same story.
“Spank me.”
“Tell me I’m a bad boy.”
“my wife doesn’t do this.”
yawn.
I didn’t want to be the one doing the entertaining anymore. I wanted to be the one being entertained.
Maybe it was the arrogance of early success — that sweet spot where you think you’ve seen it all, when really, you haven’t even scraped the surface.
Or maybe it was boredom disguised as burnout.
But that little voice started whispering… The one that said, This is it? This is the life you were so desperate to build?
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I got into this world to feel alive — to chase the highs, the intensity, the unpredictability of it all. And yet suddenly, I was living on autopilot with champagne in one hand and a vibrator in the other.
The rollercoaster had reached its slow, creeping climb.
I could feel the drop coming. And part of me — the part still raw and real underneath the alter ego — wanted it.
Something had to give.
And trust me… it did.
