8/17/25 The Truth According to Patty

Age

Age is a funny thing. When we’re young, we want to be older. When we’re older, we want to be younger. Is there ever a time when we’re truly happy with our age?

This year, when I moved to St. Louis, I decided to come clean and tell the truth: I’m 64. I started this when I was 54, and I lied about my age until just a few months ago. The ridiculous part? I would always tell people my real age once they met me. How bad is that? “Hi, nice to meet you… by the way, I already lied to you!”

What really gets me is when men lie about their age—especially after 60. Some won’t even give me a number; they’ll just say they’re “in their 60s” or “in their 70s.” Translation: they’re usually 69 or 79. And trust me, there’s a big difference between 61 and 69… just like there’s a big difference between 41 and 49. That’s one of the reasons I decided to stop lying—because I hate being lied to.

If you don’t want to see me because I get AARP magazines, that’s fine. I’m not going to change who I am just to suit someone else’s fantasy. As Popeye would say, I am what I am. You only get one truth in this world, and you’re not here for long. So be truthful—it’s better for your soul. And besides, lying is just bad karma.

Which brings me to my other truth…

Chatty Patty

Someone recently told me about reviews of me on a site I’d never heard of: USAsexguide.nl. Apparently, every city has its own section. Last week, under “St. Louis Escort Reports,” they talked about me. Some of it was nice, some… not so nice. But one thing stood out: they called me “Chatty Patty.”

Now, I get it—I like to talk. I find it helps people relax, and it helps me relax too. Honestly, I think I do it because I’m nervous. I’ve noticed that I always talk more during the first session than any other. You should know: I’m a ball of nerves before you arrive. Once I see you, it gets better, but I’m still keyed up.

So yes, I might chat a little too much that first time. But personally, I think that’s better than lying there in silence like a statue. At least you know I’m alive and enjoying myself. And besides, if I can’t tell you my real age anymore, I’ve got to fill the air with something.

And for the record… I Do Not Live in Maryland Heights!

While we’re clearing things up, let’s address another little gem floating around the review boards: apparently, some people think I live in Maryland Heights. Let me assure you—I do not.

Maryland Heights has a prostitution task force. While they’re mainly focused on traffickers and pimps, I don’t want to be anywhere near that. I chose my home because it’s in an unincorporated area, meaning the only police presence is the St. Louis County police—and they have the entire county to look after.

I can honestly say, I’ve never been safer in my ten years of doing this. The subdivision is lovely, my home is modern and spotless, and my neighbors think I’m a work-from-home bookkeeper. Honestly, I think people in a neighborhood this nice would have a hard time believing a 64-year-old woman was a prostitute. I’m tucked away at the end of two streets with hardly anyone around.

You can never feel too safe in this business, but here? I feel safer than I ever have. And that’s the truth.