Is This Real If I Paid for It? On Transaction, Truth, and Sacred Intimacy

Every so often, a client will look at me with vulnerability in their eyes and ask,

“How can something this real, this intense, still be transactional?”

It’s a question that deserves more than a quick answer.

It touches the ache of loneliness, the guilt of desire, and the yearning for authenticity in a world that often commodifies connection—or denies it altogether.

Here’s what I tell them:

This space we enter together is real.

The breath is real.

The touch, the tears, the surrender, the joy—these are not performances. They are the parts of you that have longed to be met.

Yes, there is an exchange. Yes, there is a fee. But the money doesn’t buy my affection. It creates the container—a safe, structured space where something meaningful can unfold.

It’s no different than paying a massage therapist to ease physical tension, or a psychologist to help you navigate emotional patterns. No one questions the reality of the pain—or the relief—just because there was a cost.

The structure supports the healing. It doesn’t diminish it.

In fact, for some people, this is the only space where they’ve ever felt truly safe to explore erotic energy without performance, pressure, or judgment.

I think of myself as a surrogate, yes—but also as a ritual guide and a carrier of an ancestral role.

In many older cultures, there were people who held erotic and emotional energy in service of healing and transformation. Temple priestesses. Sacred consorts. Shamans. Courtesans of the soul. Their touch, presence, and wisdom weren’t transactional in the modern sense—they were sacred. Essential. A bridge between body and spirit.

I carry a thread of that lineage. Not in costume or pretense—but in intention.

I offer this space not as a performance, but as practice.

You bring your questions, your grief, your hunger, your longing.

I bring presence, attunement, skill, and a warm, human heart.

What we create together is a kind of medicine—not because it promises permanence, but because it touches truth.

If you’ve been in a relationship where love went silent…

If you’ve gone years without your body being truly seen…

If you’ve told yourself that desire was something to silence or shame…

Then yes, this may feel confusing.

To feel so alive, so connected, with someone you paid for.

To feel more whole in two hours than you’ve felt in years.

To realize you’re not broken—just waiting.

This is not a transaction. This is a rite.

A sacred rehearsal for the kind of life you want to inhabit.

And the truth is: we don’t always get to choose where our healing begins.

Sometimes, it starts in unexpected places.

Even in rooms like this, where the heart is welcome, the body is not judged, and erotic energy is treated with the reverence it deserves.

If this resonates with you, know that you are not alone.

And if the paradox still lingers—come anyway.

Bring your questions.

Bring your truth.

There is space for all of it.