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Sarah Jane Woodall: My time, your money

<p>Sarah Jane Woodall</p>

Sarah Jane Woodall

In Vegas, it’s illegal to hire a hot chick for sex. But it’s perfectly legal to hire one for just about anything else! Need a sexy blackjack dealer for a corporate event? A hot caddy for your golf game? A busty babe for your trade-show booth? There are “talent” agencies catering to all your hot-chick needs, and while they may seem a touch cheesy, no one really faults you for using such services.

But what about the poor, lonely shmuck who comes to town for business and just wants someone to talk to over dinner? More than one out-of-town friend has confided in me his desire for a legitimate escort service — somewhere a guy can hire a hot chick for dinner without having to worry about getting busted by vice, or her robbing him. An agency staffed with nice girls!

Well, look no further, boys. I’m not saying I’m a nice girl in the traditional sense, but I’m not a crackhead, I don’t have a criminal record and I am now available for bookings.

A few weeks ago, after a photo shoot, another model asked if I could drop her off at the Wynn for a gig. “What kind of gig?” I inquired innocently. She blushed and confided that it was a dinner date, set up through What’

I’d heard of the site, but assumed it was nothing more than a front for prostitution — the hot chicks’ online equivalent of standing around outside Home Depot: You post a profile stating how much you charge for your time, and guys hire you to go out with them. My friend claimed to go on two or three dates a week, earning a decent wage and getting some fantastic free meals in the process.


I went home and created a profile — making it explicitly clear that I have zero interest in sex or romance, that I am offering my services solely as a dinner partner/conversationalist/font of Vegas-related information. I set my “price” at a very reasonable $100 for a three-hour date, and sat back to wait for the offers to roll in.

Shockingly, I didn’t get much action. It seems my lonely dinner-date-wanting friends were anomalies — most men simply aren’t interested in a rainbow with no pot of gold at the end. I did get a few offers, but none followed through. I was beginning to write the whole thing off as a giant time-waster when someone finally booked me.

An intelligent, educated man offered me $100 to go hiking one weekend, and I accepted. Now, I know no nice girl would wander off into the hinterlands with a total stranger … but, like I said, I’m a different kind of nice. The reckless kind!

We met at a Starbucks in Summerlin, and after introductions, he handed me a bank envelope with a $100 bill inside. Sweet! With the awkward part out of the way, we cruised up to Red Rock and proceeded to enjoy a very pleasant hike.

He was an excellent conversationalist, and our discourse was wide-ranging, from politics to history to my personal make-’em-laugh-standby, fetish modeling. But whatever the topic, the conversation always came back around to money: the 1 percent vs. the 99 percent, the cost of living in Vegas, how much do I make as a fetish model? I noted this trend aloud, and we both put it down to our relationship being based on a financial transaction. That underlying fact colored our entire conversation, interestingly.

I felt pretty good about the afternoon — I’d gotten a workout, met an interesting new person and was $100 richer. This paid companion thing was working out great! A few days later, he messaged me again. He’d really enjoyed our hike, he said, and would like to do it again — but he only liked to pay for novel experiences, meaning he wouldn’t pay me a second time. However, if I had a girlfriend I wanted to bring along, he’d gladly pay her.


Ever practical, I set aside my bruised ego and found a willing girlfriend, with the understanding that we would split the $100 in exchange for my pimping services. Everything went according to plan, and I left that second hike $50 richer.

But this time I wasn’t so excited. I’d only been on the site a month, and already I was offering a 50-percent discount? What am I, TJ Maxx? I suppose I could have insisted that he pay full price if he wanted to hike with me again, but if I was that kind of negotiator, I’d be raking it in at Spearmint Rhino, not bumbling around the hills in a CamelBak.

As it was, I found the whole thing an interesting social experiment — mainly for the debate it ignited among my friends. “Isn’t that called escorting?” one girl sneered — and this is a woman who used to find her last boyfriend.

It seems the consensus is, it’s OK to date a man in exchange for gifts in the form of expensive shoes, handbags and jewelry. But the minute you take out the middleman and put a specific price on your time, then you’re a hooker.

Well, color me hookery. What the hell do I want with Christian Louboutins, anyway? They’re useless for hiking!

SARAH JANE WOODALL walks the walk on her blog at