I never planned to make this my career. A few years ago, I was crawling out of a relationship that had its claws in me since I was a teenager—fifteen, to be exact. After it ended, I was too nervous to date.Too skittish, too raw.
But something stuck with me: that Firefly episode where Inara helps a young man through his first time. It wasn’t about sex, really—it was about dignity, about human connection, about helping someone feel seen. That resonated.
So I put out a post on Reddit offering to meet up with local virgins. Not for sex, not at first. Just to hang out. Maybe feel a boob, maybe not. And after eight really special encounters—four of whom told me point-blank that I should be doing this professionally—I sat down with my therapist, processed it all, did some serious homework, and finally worked up the nerve to post an ad.
To my surprise, people responded. A lot of people. And it turns out, there’s an entire demographic of men—often anxious, deeply isolated, socially inexperienced—who are starving not just for physical touch, but for kindness. For reassurance. For a space where they can be emotionally vulnerable without being mocked. And that’s the space I try to create.
It’s not just about sex. I don’t even think that’s the most important part. What gives these guys confidence—what changes them—is being able to say the things they’ve carried in shame for years, out loud, to a real woman who listens without flinching. Who doesn’t recoil or ridicule. When someone tells you that women won’t reject you, you nod. When you experience a woman treating you with warmth and curiosity and acceptance, it rewires something. And often, it changes them.
A lot of these guys come in expecting me to barely tolerate them, like I’m going to grit my teeth through a job. They’re so used to feeling undesirable that they assume I must see them that way too. So much of what I do is showing them, gently and consistently, that I want to be there. That I’m not judging them. That I’m a real person, and so are they.
Sometimes, it starts with giggles. Nervous laughter. I’ll sit with them on the couch, ask questions, make small talk. I might bring up sex in a soft, easy way—just to let them hear themselves say words like “touch” or “naked” without going beet red. Eventually, when I sense they’ve relaxed, I might reach out, touch their face. And from there, it’s their pace. I watch their body language. I let them guide what happens next. It’s consent, but it’s also care. I’m trying to model what intimacy should feel like.
Of course, it’s not always successful. I’ve had clients who were so entrenched in porn that real-life interaction just couldn’t compete. One man—young, obviously drowning in unrealistic expectations—had to hold up his phone to stay aroused. Despite all my efforts to temper his expectations beforehand, to explain how different real sex is from the screen, he insisted on degrading stepmom scenarios and fell apart when things didn’t go perfectly. I had to cut the session short. That one stuck with me. I saw the potential, but he wasn’t ready to receive it.
But most of the men I meet? They’re ready. Or at least trying to be. I’ve had drop-dead gorgeous clients—truly. One looked like Ryan Reynolds. Their looks weren’t the barrier. It was anxiety. Paralysis. The moment things started to get intimate with a woman, they’d freeze. Not because they didn’t want it, but because they’d spent so long internalizing shame or fear that their bodies couldn’t follow through.
Some men ask me about dick size. A lot, actually. They’ve been conditioned to believe it’s the holy grail of desirability. I tell them the truth: most women don’t care. Hell, big dicks can be unpleasant. And if they learn how to be good lovers—how to listen, how to explore, how to eat pussy—that’s where they win. Not in the inches.
When I talk to men about where to meet women, I don’t give generic advice. No “just be confident, bro.” I ask what they love. What they do when they feel most like themselves. And I tell them: start there. Go to those places. Be in rooms where you already feel grounded and authentic. That’s where you’ll shine. And that’s where you’ll meet someone who sees you clearly.
Do some of them catch feelings? Rarely. Only one man crossed the line into stalker territory. Most understand exactly what this is. They’re grateful, not delusional. They know we’re not about to run off into the sunset together.
I’ve kept in touch with many of them after. Some say it changed their lives—made them more assertive, more visible in the world. Others just say “thank you for treating me like a human being.” That one always makes me cry. Because so many of these men weren’t just virgins—they were invisible. And for 90 minutes, they got to be seen.
I’m not under any illusion that I’m saving lives or rewriting destinies. But I know I’m giving a push—a gentle, humanizing shove—out of the anxiety cocoon. I’m reminding them that they’re not broken. That they’re not alone. And that they deserve connection, not just transaction.