I have a sexual fantasy that I don't talk about with anyone. It's far from my only fantasy, but this one is very specific and possibly quite brutal, depending on whom you ask. I've never acted it out -- a bit too dangerous, really -- though I've seen it acted out on video many times. I've only told this fantasy to one woman, a girl I dated in college. She was a little freaked out at the time, but she seemed to get over it -- until several years later, when we reconnected online and she ended up sending an email all her friends and family, describing my fantasy and portraying me as a potential serial killer.
I've never forgiven her for that. I've also never told anyone else about this fantasy because of what she did...
Other than that, I'm an ordinary cubicle worker who's not so lucky with women. I met a woman last year who would become my first sex partner in about seven years. (I had gotten to 2nd base with many women in that span, including two long-term girlfriends, but that was it.) We only dated for six months, but we had fantastic sex during that period. However, she dumped me last spring and quickly hooked up with someone else, which left me feeling like a fool.
After that, some of my friends convinced me to come out to Las Vegas and party with them -- to help me forget about her, they said. So I set aside some money and went out there to meet them. I thought I might sample a working girl while I was out there, mostly to satisfy a curiosity. I considered hiring a prostitute back home just to get reacquainted with sex again, but I was hesitant to spend that much cash. Most of the escorts I found online were not cheap.
Then I won big at the tables my second day in town. In my mind, the money barrier was gone. So I trolled the hotel casino late one night to see what I could see. Sure enough, I spotted a very attractive young woman sitting with a drink at a slot machine -- not drinking and not playing, but just waiting for a guy like me to come by. We sussed each other out very quickly and went back to my room. Once there, we agreed on a price and began.
She was very professional and made me feel comfortable with the experience... until we were about a minute into it. Then she looked me in the eye and asked, "What's your kink, baby?"
I froze. I was that guarded about my fantasy that I couldn't bring myself to describe it to her. This was a working girl in Vegas who had probably heard far worse fantasies than mine, and chances are we would never cross paths again. Still, I was too scared to tell her my kink for fear that she might freak out, just like that girl from my college days did.
I tried to change the subject and change positions, but I started having trouble keeping my erection full -- something that almost always happens to me the first time I have sex with a new partner, but my fear might have had something to do with it, too. Unfortunately, when I needed a break, she used that as a prime opportunity to hit me up for more cash. It was then that I realized something: this was just a job to her. She wanted to get me off and get out. That left me a little cold. I did give her the extra money -- I had it available, and really, I wanted to finish up as much as she did at that point. She did eventually bring me to orgasm, and she stayed to talk with me for a few minutes afterward, apologizing for making me feel uncomfortable.
I have no regrets about the experience. In fact, I'm glad I did it, because it made me realize that a working girl can't give me the type of sexual experience I really want. My encounter with this particular woman lacked the kind of intimacy I had with previous girlfriends. (At one point, she seemed to recoil when I kissed her chest.) I'd prefer a sex partner who wants to be there and wants to come with me, too, rather than someone who just sees it as her job to get me off and get it over with. Perhaps other working girls aren't this bad, but because of that, I probably wouldn't do something like this again.
The experience also made me realize that I have some major trust issues to sort out. Maybe one day I'll feel more comfortable talking about this fantasy of mine with a girlfriend. I suspect, though, that this day is still a long way off.
Showing posts with label INTERNET. Show all posts
Showing posts with label INTERNET. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
I Am A Gentleman
At about the age of 50, I made a fabulous discovery. I'd married young and had only been with my wife to that point. That marriage eventually dissolved, and so did another one, and now I'm on number three. Until recently, I had been sexually involved only with my wives. That isn't to say I was entirely happy about that. I went through a lot of years wondering what it would be like to make love with different women. Not fuck. Actually make love to. But as others have noted many times, affairs are tar pits.
Then I found out that at my age, with some disposable income, and with an in-built respect for womankind, I was a valuable commodity. Interesting women actually wanted to have sex with me. And good sex. Sex with someone who is skilled, experienced, and eager to please. After a lot of education thanks to boards and helpful sites, I went to my first session and never looked back. I'm choosy about who I see. She has to be known in the local community, well-regarded, and with good reviews. My involvement is a hobby, not an emotional imperative. The ladies I patronize are largely smart and compassionate, known to provide good service. With such ladies, there is no such thing as a bad time, although some are better than others. There is admittedly little emotional involvement, but that's fine. It's entertainment, not networking. It's my own little bit of performance art, a play entirely for my benefit. I am not a john, you see. I am a client. I am, in the parlance, a gentleman.
My wife does not know, and perhaps would not care overly much if she did. She has had health problems that limit her sexual involvement. In fact, she has benefited from my secret little life. I learn a great deal from providers, and I bring that home to practice when I can. Much of what providers can teach does not require gymnastics.
There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.
And the best part is that my hobby enables me to grow in confidence. It continues to teach me about human nature. It has introduced me to like-minded people who support one another in the shadow community we share. It is not dismal nor depressing. It is not a sad place at all. It is a place of exhilaration, negotiation, and keen fun. It is the purest form of commerce that I know, and the most instructive. I may give it up some day; I don't do it often now. But I know it has been good for me.
Then I found out that at my age, with some disposable income, and with an in-built respect for womankind, I was a valuable commodity. Interesting women actually wanted to have sex with me. And good sex. Sex with someone who is skilled, experienced, and eager to please. After a lot of education thanks to boards and helpful sites, I went to my first session and never looked back. I'm choosy about who I see. She has to be known in the local community, well-regarded, and with good reviews. My involvement is a hobby, not an emotional imperative. The ladies I patronize are largely smart and compassionate, known to provide good service. With such ladies, there is no such thing as a bad time, although some are better than others. There is admittedly little emotional involvement, but that's fine. It's entertainment, not networking. It's my own little bit of performance art, a play entirely for my benefit. I am not a john, you see. I am a client. I am, in the parlance, a gentleman.
My wife does not know, and perhaps would not care overly much if she did. She has had health problems that limit her sexual involvement. In fact, she has benefited from my secret little life. I learn a great deal from providers, and I bring that home to practice when I can. Much of what providers can teach does not require gymnastics.
There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.
And the best part is that my hobby enables me to grow in confidence. It continues to teach me about human nature. It has introduced me to like-minded people who support one another in the shadow community we share. It is not dismal nor depressing. It is not a sad place at all. It is a place of exhilaration, negotiation, and keen fun. It is the purest form of commerce that I know, and the most instructive. I may give it up some day; I don't do it often now. But I know it has been good for me.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I'm Only Going To Be Alive Once
I am now in my mid 40s. In my early 20s, a time when I had very little sex experience, I'd gotten married. We were incompatible sexually, never really comfortable together that way. Still, we had a big group of friends and family. Because of that (and just plain fear of change,) we stayed together for several years.
During this time of sexual frustration at home, I became obsessively interested in streetwalkers. At first I would just go to different parts of town where street prostitutes worked and watch them. Then one day I paid for a blowjob and it was on— every chance I got I was out getting street sex. In the car, in alleys, doorways and parking lots, in the hallways of apartment buildings, once in an airshaft of a public housing project, in the cab of an abandoned truck and sometimes in scary hotels.
It was an adventure, and there was a "thrill of the hunt" almost as fun as the sex. I knew all the different parts of town where girls would be, and which types would be there— from the classier ladies to the crack smokers and junkies.
The really rough, druggie girls were fascinating to me because they were exotic and intense. (After all, I grew up on a farm and had just moved to the city a few years earlier.) I did this in such a compulsive gonad-stupor that I only later gained the minimal empathy required to realize what hellish lives many of these women must have had. I realize now what karmic awfulness I was implicating myself in.
Still, I'm glad for many things I got to experience— the kinds of girls and body types I would have never otherwise been able to explore. Beautiful fat girls, black girls, tiny small girls, tall-like-a-basketball player girls, asian girls, classic blond bombshells, punk rockers, beautiful mature-aged ladies, etc.
Prostitution is often thought of as a disease risk, but I never met a street-girl during this time who didn't carry condoms and insist on their use. I never felt endangered, aside from the possibility of getting jumped or carjacked in some of the neighborhoods I went to for sex (which never happened either.)
Some of the situations were completely odd, but totally fun. I remember running into a cute, funny, curly-haired girl on the street once. I would have never guessed that she was turning tricks until she made the first move of propositioning me. We went up to her room and I laid on the bed for a great blowjob. It was only after this that I noticed that she had a ferret on a leash scrambling around in the folds of her little fur coat.
My obsession pretty much ended when my wife and I divorced. I moved on, found a girlfriend with whom I had harmonious sex so excellent it made furtive back alley transactions seem uninteresting. I didn't look back.
Flash forward twenty years. In the wake of a breakup from another relationship and a series of professional failures, I find myself looking in the Erotic Services section, and eventually I meet up with a few girls advertising there.
It's been a very different set of experiences than before. It's much more expensive (though I feel I've gotten what I paid for.) These girls have been very professional, without signs of drug addiction or desperation. There has been a leisurely pace and a general good humor and friendliness that I didn't experience in the old days. Through the internet it's much easier to access different, diverse and exotic types that would be difficult to find otherwise. Finally, it takes a little research and investigation to find the experiences that are right for you, so be careful and use common sense if you're going to do this.
I met with a gorgeous older woman in her fifties. She was incredible. like nothing I ever encountered in streetwalker days. Gentle, cheerful, thoughtful. She seemed to truly enjoy having sex and talking with me. It was so much like a 'girlfriend experience' that it felt completely natural that I go down on her, which, again, she at least appeared to enjoy. She finished me off with a lovely blowjob. Laying around talking with her, I felt really comfortable. Walking up the block, I still could smell her scent on me. I realized that this had not only been the best sex I'd had with a prostitute, but some of the most memorable sex that I've had in my life, period.
I met with a preop transexual, who was stunning, friendly and awe-inspiring in fishnets and boots. I thought I would be freaked out, but she immediately put me at ease. I had a really fun time learning that the 'girl with something extra' experience was not really for me.
I met with a heartbreakingly beautiful latin lady who gave me a fantastic sensual massage ending with a perfectly controlled handjob. We sat naked in her studio for more than an hour after, idly talking. I could have proposed marriage then and there.
Most recently, a pretty blond BBW welcomed me to her place with cheerful jokes. She encouraged me to come multiple times and there was lots of giggly moving around and shifting of positions. Afterward, we swapped life histories.
As a sensualist, prostitution gives me access to experiences which would be otherwise impossible for me. As a human, it temporarily provides for me a kind of companionship I spend long periods without. I'm only going to be alive once, so I really might as well. (The judgement of others is really the only thing stopping me, and that's pretty easy to circumvent and/or disregard.)
During this time of sexual frustration at home, I became obsessively interested in streetwalkers. At first I would just go to different parts of town where street prostitutes worked and watch them. Then one day I paid for a blowjob and it was on— every chance I got I was out getting street sex. In the car, in alleys, doorways and parking lots, in the hallways of apartment buildings, once in an airshaft of a public housing project, in the cab of an abandoned truck and sometimes in scary hotels.
It was an adventure, and there was a "thrill of the hunt" almost as fun as the sex. I knew all the different parts of town where girls would be, and which types would be there— from the classier ladies to the crack smokers and junkies.
The really rough, druggie girls were fascinating to me because they were exotic and intense. (After all, I grew up on a farm and had just moved to the city a few years earlier.) I did this in such a compulsive gonad-stupor that I only later gained the minimal empathy required to realize what hellish lives many of these women must have had. I realize now what karmic awfulness I was implicating myself in.
Still, I'm glad for many things I got to experience— the kinds of girls and body types I would have never otherwise been able to explore. Beautiful fat girls, black girls, tiny small girls, tall-like-a-basketball player girls, asian girls, classic blond bombshells, punk rockers, beautiful mature-aged ladies, etc.
Prostitution is often thought of as a disease risk, but I never met a street-girl during this time who didn't carry condoms and insist on their use. I never felt endangered, aside from the possibility of getting jumped or carjacked in some of the neighborhoods I went to for sex (which never happened either.)
Some of the situations were completely odd, but totally fun. I remember running into a cute, funny, curly-haired girl on the street once. I would have never guessed that she was turning tricks until she made the first move of propositioning me. We went up to her room and I laid on the bed for a great blowjob. It was only after this that I noticed that she had a ferret on a leash scrambling around in the folds of her little fur coat.
My obsession pretty much ended when my wife and I divorced. I moved on, found a girlfriend with whom I had harmonious sex so excellent it made furtive back alley transactions seem uninteresting. I didn't look back.
Flash forward twenty years. In the wake of a breakup from another relationship and a series of professional failures, I find myself looking in the Erotic Services section, and eventually I meet up with a few girls advertising there.
It's been a very different set of experiences than before. It's much more expensive (though I feel I've gotten what I paid for.) These girls have been very professional, without signs of drug addiction or desperation. There has been a leisurely pace and a general good humor and friendliness that I didn't experience in the old days. Through the internet it's much easier to access different, diverse and exotic types that would be difficult to find otherwise. Finally, it takes a little research and investigation to find the experiences that are right for you, so be careful and use common sense if you're going to do this.
I met with a gorgeous older woman in her fifties. She was incredible. like nothing I ever encountered in streetwalker days. Gentle, cheerful, thoughtful. She seemed to truly enjoy having sex and talking with me. It was so much like a 'girlfriend experience' that it felt completely natural that I go down on her, which, again, she at least appeared to enjoy. She finished me off with a lovely blowjob. Laying around talking with her, I felt really comfortable. Walking up the block, I still could smell her scent on me. I realized that this had not only been the best sex I'd had with a prostitute, but some of the most memorable sex that I've had in my life, period.
I met with a preop transexual, who was stunning, friendly and awe-inspiring in fishnets and boots. I thought I would be freaked out, but she immediately put me at ease. I had a really fun time learning that the 'girl with something extra' experience was not really for me.
I met with a heartbreakingly beautiful latin lady who gave me a fantastic sensual massage ending with a perfectly controlled handjob. We sat naked in her studio for more than an hour after, idly talking. I could have proposed marriage then and there.
Most recently, a pretty blond BBW welcomed me to her place with cheerful jokes. She encouraged me to come multiple times and there was lots of giggly moving around and shifting of positions. Afterward, we swapped life histories.
As a sensualist, prostitution gives me access to experiences which would be otherwise impossible for me. As a human, it temporarily provides for me a kind of companionship I spend long periods without. I'm only going to be alive once, so I really might as well. (The judgement of others is really the only thing stopping me, and that's pretty easy to circumvent and/or disregard.)
Monday, July 21, 2008
I Was Smitten
My problem is that I tend to fall in love a little with my "providers," sometimes just a crush, sometimes veering towards more. And it’s sometimes mutual—I’ve actually dated two providers I first met as a client. Truly dated, without paying for the sex. I think it goes back to my young marriage. I was quite young, 19 years old, and I married a girl my age who was so completely sexually open that she set an almost impossible bar for the relationships I’ve had since. We divorced when we were both 23, and for a long time the only way I could experience the kind of sexual intensity I had with my former wife was to date much older women, 30 or older. Occasionally I would date someone my age or younger, but invariably I was disappointed. Younger women, and I know this is generalizing, are just not as comfortable in their own skin. Now, at the age of 38, I realize just how lucky I was with my young wife.
Right around the age of 30, I started seeing prostitutes, always in between "real" girlfriends. I use a local Internet review board and do a lot of research before settling on someone new. For the first few years, it was more about sexual variety—women of different ages, races, body types. And they were almost always extremely sexually skilled. It created kind of a vicious circle: when I started my next relationship, I would long for and expect the sexual competence and freedom that prostitutes often provided. Finally, about four years in, I started falling for a provider for the first time. Her working name was Trixie, and I was smitten the moment I laid my eyes on her. She looked like Bettie Page, tall and voluptuous, and we both felt an instant rapport. The sex was completely off the charts from the very first time. I’ve been with many women and can be a little jaded, but she surprised me with every move. From the deepest deep throat of my life to her actually asking for anal (and coming that way), she initially reeled me in with her superior sexual skills. But then, fuck, she turned out to be smart, as in scary smart. She was more than just a dirty talker... she would spin crazy, creative, erotic stories on the fly, while we were fucking, and by the time an hour was up, I felt as though I’d had sex with a dozen goddesses.
I saw Trixie as a paying client for about six months before I finally asked her out. I took her out just a few times, and we had a lot of fun, as well as a lot of really great sex. Unfortunately, I started having true feelings for her. I remember a really sad moment where the impossibility of the situation hit home. We were having Sunday brunch at a cool little neighborhood spot, and it hit me: "Dude, you’re dating a prostitute." I suddenly realized that this was something I just was never going to be able to explain to most people, certainly not my family, although I’ve since told a couple of friends who didn’t think it was that big a deal. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her as a non-client. I stayed away for almost two years and went back as a client just once before she retired. We had a sweet little reunion, and she told me about her plans for going back to school, and getting married, and moving to a small mountain town. She said, "You know, we probably could have made something work." We had amazing sex one last time. About a year later, I got an e-mail invite to a BBQ at her and her new husband’s place. I had a new girlfriend at the time, and I couldn’t figure out a way of explaining my connection to Trixie, so I ignored the invitation. I think of her fondly now, but haven’t tried to make contact.
Since then, I’ve dated one other provider, and a part of me wants very badly to ask out another who I’ve been seeing recently. It’s sad, because the sex is at the level I desire, and, like so many working girls I’ve met, she’s incredibly witty, big-hearted, and intelligent. But there’s no good end. It would break the hearts of so many people in my life if they knew the truth about a relationship that started that way, and I couldn’t live with myself lying about it. I have a suspicion that I will always harbor crushes and strong feelings for providers. There are worse crosses to bear.
Right around the age of 30, I started seeing prostitutes, always in between "real" girlfriends. I use a local Internet review board and do a lot of research before settling on someone new. For the first few years, it was more about sexual variety—women of different ages, races, body types. And they were almost always extremely sexually skilled. It created kind of a vicious circle: when I started my next relationship, I would long for and expect the sexual competence and freedom that prostitutes often provided. Finally, about four years in, I started falling for a provider for the first time. Her working name was Trixie, and I was smitten the moment I laid my eyes on her. She looked like Bettie Page, tall and voluptuous, and we both felt an instant rapport. The sex was completely off the charts from the very first time. I’ve been with many women and can be a little jaded, but she surprised me with every move. From the deepest deep throat of my life to her actually asking for anal (and coming that way), she initially reeled me in with her superior sexual skills. But then, fuck, she turned out to be smart, as in scary smart. She was more than just a dirty talker... she would spin crazy, creative, erotic stories on the fly, while we were fucking, and by the time an hour was up, I felt as though I’d had sex with a dozen goddesses.
I saw Trixie as a paying client for about six months before I finally asked her out. I took her out just a few times, and we had a lot of fun, as well as a lot of really great sex. Unfortunately, I started having true feelings for her. I remember a really sad moment where the impossibility of the situation hit home. We were having Sunday brunch at a cool little neighborhood spot, and it hit me: "Dude, you’re dating a prostitute." I suddenly realized that this was something I just was never going to be able to explain to most people, certainly not my family, although I’ve since told a couple of friends who didn’t think it was that big a deal. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her as a non-client. I stayed away for almost two years and went back as a client just once before she retired. We had a sweet little reunion, and she told me about her plans for going back to school, and getting married, and moving to a small mountain town. She said, "You know, we probably could have made something work." We had amazing sex one last time. About a year later, I got an e-mail invite to a BBQ at her and her new husband’s place. I had a new girlfriend at the time, and I couldn’t figure out a way of explaining my connection to Trixie, so I ignored the invitation. I think of her fondly now, but haven’t tried to make contact.
Since then, I’ve dated one other provider, and a part of me wants very badly to ask out another who I’ve been seeing recently. It’s sad, because the sex is at the level I desire, and, like so many working girls I’ve met, she’s incredibly witty, big-hearted, and intelligent. But there’s no good end. It would break the hearts of so many people in my life if they knew the truth about a relationship that started that way, and I couldn’t live with myself lying about it. I have a suspicion that I will always harbor crushes and strong feelings for providers. There are worse crosses to bear.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I Said That One
I saw a sex worker just over a year ago, but I had thought about it for a long long time. It never seemed like something I could really do. A sex advice column pointed me to an escort review board for my town. Reading through it, I was shocked at the openness of the posters and just how many different services were available. It didn't change my mind, but I kept looking every few weeks, using the advertisements on the site instead of porn to jerk off. The women seemed closer, more real, with a call I could actually fuck them.
I changed my mind a year ago because I was turning 30 and I was still a virgin. At the time going to a prostitute seemed like the only way to do something about it. Even after I had made my decision it took me a few weeks to actually make the call. I chose an incall service near my apartment, I didn't want to meet her at my place and I didn't want to spend more money on a hotel room.
I was so nervous when making the call I barely paid attention to what the operator was saying. I heard the name of a girl I remembered from the website and I said that one. I noted down the information on where to go, but I made a mistake and had to call back twice.
Once I finally got there, I was shocked by how broken down the room was, but the girl was pretty. I handed my money, she told me to get comfortable and she went out of the room for 5 minutes. I had no idea what to do. I removed my clothes, keeping on my underwear. When she came back in the room, she immediately got undressed and got on the bed. She was beautiful, but this is not what I had imagined. I couldn't do most of what I had in mind: couldn't undress her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't perform cunnilingus. She was also weirded out by my penis, I have a phimosis. Still, I was enjoying myself until she got on top of me. She immediately started to moan, and it hit me as incredibly fake. I lost my erection. We spent the rest of our time together lying on the bed, me holding her.
For the next few weeks what I had done would hit me: sometimes it would make me happy, sometimes sad. Now it's just another memory. I stayed away from the review site for a few month, but I started going back recently. I may end up trying again, but right now it doesn't feel yet like I need to.
I changed my mind a year ago because I was turning 30 and I was still a virgin. At the time going to a prostitute seemed like the only way to do something about it. Even after I had made my decision it took me a few weeks to actually make the call. I chose an incall service near my apartment, I didn't want to meet her at my place and I didn't want to spend more money on a hotel room.
I was so nervous when making the call I barely paid attention to what the operator was saying. I heard the name of a girl I remembered from the website and I said that one. I noted down the information on where to go, but I made a mistake and had to call back twice.
Once I finally got there, I was shocked by how broken down the room was, but the girl was pretty. I handed my money, she told me to get comfortable and she went out of the room for 5 minutes. I had no idea what to do. I removed my clothes, keeping on my underwear. When she came back in the room, she immediately got undressed and got on the bed. She was beautiful, but this is not what I had imagined. I couldn't do most of what I had in mind: couldn't undress her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't perform cunnilingus. She was also weirded out by my penis, I have a phimosis. Still, I was enjoying myself until she got on top of me. She immediately started to moan, and it hit me as incredibly fake. I lost my erection. We spent the rest of our time together lying on the bed, me holding her.
For the next few weeks what I had done would hit me: sometimes it would make me happy, sometimes sad. Now it's just another memory. I stayed away from the review site for a few month, but I started going back recently. I may end up trying again, but right now it doesn't feel yet like I need to.
Friday, May 23, 2008
I Like Women
I'm 41 and divorced. I have had a few girlfriends since breaking up, but the combination of a demanding job and the fact I spend most weekends with my children means I am usually single.
I have a high sex drive - not freakish, but I like sex, and I like women. I started seeing working girls after I'd been single for 6 months, and have had the usual range of experiences - I even made friends with one of the girls.
A few weeks ago, I arranged to see a girl who advertised on a web site. Her online persona is very much the crazy cumslut porn queen - she wears exotic make-up, has huge silicon boobs, and in her blog wonders if she's a slut or a whore.
I visited the hotel where she was staying, expecting a full-on session of filthy porno sex - and I wasn't disappointed. Thing is, afterwards, we chatted for a bit - and she opened up to me, a total stranger who had paid her for sex - about her life. She showed me pictures of her cats, told me about her no-good ex husband, how she was hoping to move to a remote place and just have lots of animals. She told me about her boyfriend, and how her submissive bedroom persona was matched by a bossy and demanding real world attitude.
I fell a little bit in love with her - wanted to hold her and make her feel safe. Of course, I knew that to her I was just another nameless guy with a hard-on, so I suppressed the feeling.
I have a high sex drive - not freakish, but I like sex, and I like women. I started seeing working girls after I'd been single for 6 months, and have had the usual range of experiences - I even made friends with one of the girls.
A few weeks ago, I arranged to see a girl who advertised on a web site. Her online persona is very much the crazy cumslut porn queen - she wears exotic make-up, has huge silicon boobs, and in her blog wonders if she's a slut or a whore.
I visited the hotel where she was staying, expecting a full-on session of filthy porno sex - and I wasn't disappointed. Thing is, afterwards, we chatted for a bit - and she opened up to me, a total stranger who had paid her for sex - about her life. She showed me pictures of her cats, told me about her no-good ex husband, how she was hoping to move to a remote place and just have lots of animals. She told me about her boyfriend, and how her submissive bedroom persona was matched by a bossy and demanding real world attitude.
I fell a little bit in love with her - wanted to hold her and make her feel safe. Of course, I knew that to her I was just another nameless guy with a hard-on, so I suppressed the feeling.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
I Was Forever One of the Johns Now
I had sex with a prostitute once, when I was in my mid-twenties.
I came about as close to going crazy that year as I have so far. (Knock on wood). I was single and living alone, being stressed beyond all previous experience by a job. (It amazes me now to think of letting an employer drive me to this state.) Though I wasn't consciously tracking it, I had also been going up a steady ramp of commercial sex trade, from porn to phone sex to strippers.
I grew up in a small town, and I was pretty unworldly. I don't remember how, probably through some movie, I realized that you could actually find escorts in the telephone book. I went to look and sure enough. For a couple weeks, every so often I would look at those listings. But I didn't think I would actually do it.
One day, I went to the movie theater alone--the way I did most things those days. The movie I saw was "Angels and Insects." Throughout that strange, messed-up story of class, repression, and incest, I felt like a bubble of hot blood was swelling in my head and chest. I was also plagued by hypochondria during this period. In the end of the movie, two of the main characters escape their damaged, repressed situation together. I knew that there wasn't any escape in the cards for me.
When I got home, I put myself into the sort of unthinking trance I do when I want to do something I don't think I should and don't want to think about it and dialed a number selected based on an unremembered criteria. I hadn't even thought about money, I was relatively poor, and the amount cited (a couple hundred) surprised me. I said I didn't have it on hand and didn't know if I could get it, thinking that might be the end of it, but she said she would call back in half an hour and see. It must have been a slow day. I walked to a nearby convenience store (I had no car) and took out the money plus an fifty extra because I figured I ought to, as a cash advance on a credit card. I went home and told myself she probably wouldn't call. But she did.
I was very excited, the kind of rush I used to get going into the adult store (or, when I was a kid, shoplifting), but in the time it took for her to arrive the feeling decayed and I felt like I'd made a mistake. But the doorbell rang and I figured: in for a penny, in for a pound.
I think she said her name was Laurie, but I'm not sure. She was pretty, buxom, and slender, though she had her hair gelled to the point of being crunchy, which made touching it sort of unpleasant. I almost forgot what I was about for a minute, until she told me I couldn't kiss her. Oh, right. I fumbled over some stupid line I thought would protect me from a potential police sting (some over-thought variation of "You're not a cop, are you?") that only made her nervous, though she got over it. Foreplay felt like a stupid charade, but I went through the motions, for my own sake, not hers.
When we moved into the bedroom, I was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that I slept on a mattress on the floor--I was just a couple years out of college. I lost my erection while she tried to get a condom on, but she managed to get me back up with oral. The oral was the best part of the experience, even with a condom. She was very skillful.
The sex was really average. When she started to moan. I felt like telling her not to bother, but it seemed like it would be rude to do so. Orgasm was a little flicker, quickly dissipated to nothing. But the pressure in my head went away.
She asked me about what I thought afterwards. I didn't really know what to say. (I said something but I don't remember what.) She asked me if I was expecting her to be prettier, and I said she was very pretty. She said: Some guys expect us to look like models. If I looked like a model would I be doing this? Then she seemed sort of embarrassed, like she'd let the cat out of the bag that she didn't really want to have sex with me. No worries, sister. I knew that going in. She asked if she could have my belt. It was strange. It wasn't really a remarkable belt at all, just black leather with a steel buckle. It was probably worth twelve bucks. I told her it was a gift from my brother (true), otherwise it would have been no problem. I walked her out to her car, and she hugged me before she got in. I wondered about that. Maybe she was trying to leave a good impression for potential repeat business, or maybe she was grateful that I'd showered beforehand and didn't try to stick it up her ass. She said to call her any time.
I sat in the dark listening to records afterwards, smoking and thinking about how I had joined this dirty club, and I couldn't take it back. I was forever one of the Johns now. I felt like I had changed something about who I was--and not in a good way--more so than, say, when I lost my virginity. I worried about the money, too. I really couldn't afford it.
Then again, for months afterwards I would find myself thinking that I would do it again, only this time I wouldn't be such a nice guy. I would really take advantage of the situation. I went through a similar escalation with phone sex, like the first time I asked an operator to role-play anal, which at the time was very exciting. But I never made another call, and I've never slept with another prostitute. I regret it now, though I don't think or worry about it anymore. I don't judge sex workers or in general the people who employ them, but it isn't what I want sex to be in my life. I don't think the experience added anything of value to my existence. I have told very few people about it. My brother, and a couple of friends, and the woman who is now my wife, before we started dating, because I knew I wanted to date her, and I figured it was better off being out there. I got appreciably saner, and I stopped calling phone sex, though I do sometimes look at dirty pictures on the internet.
I came about as close to going crazy that year as I have so far. (Knock on wood). I was single and living alone, being stressed beyond all previous experience by a job. (It amazes me now to think of letting an employer drive me to this state.) Though I wasn't consciously tracking it, I had also been going up a steady ramp of commercial sex trade, from porn to phone sex to strippers.
I grew up in a small town, and I was pretty unworldly. I don't remember how, probably through some movie, I realized that you could actually find escorts in the telephone book. I went to look and sure enough. For a couple weeks, every so often I would look at those listings. But I didn't think I would actually do it.
One day, I went to the movie theater alone--the way I did most things those days. The movie I saw was "Angels and Insects." Throughout that strange, messed-up story of class, repression, and incest, I felt like a bubble of hot blood was swelling in my head and chest. I was also plagued by hypochondria during this period. In the end of the movie, two of the main characters escape their damaged, repressed situation together. I knew that there wasn't any escape in the cards for me.
When I got home, I put myself into the sort of unthinking trance I do when I want to do something I don't think I should and don't want to think about it and dialed a number selected based on an unremembered criteria. I hadn't even thought about money, I was relatively poor, and the amount cited (a couple hundred) surprised me. I said I didn't have it on hand and didn't know if I could get it, thinking that might be the end of it, but she said she would call back in half an hour and see. It must have been a slow day. I walked to a nearby convenience store (I had no car) and took out the money plus an fifty extra because I figured I ought to, as a cash advance on a credit card. I went home and told myself she probably wouldn't call. But she did.
I was very excited, the kind of rush I used to get going into the adult store (or, when I was a kid, shoplifting), but in the time it took for her to arrive the feeling decayed and I felt like I'd made a mistake. But the doorbell rang and I figured: in for a penny, in for a pound.
I think she said her name was Laurie, but I'm not sure. She was pretty, buxom, and slender, though she had her hair gelled to the point of being crunchy, which made touching it sort of unpleasant. I almost forgot what I was about for a minute, until she told me I couldn't kiss her. Oh, right. I fumbled over some stupid line I thought would protect me from a potential police sting (some over-thought variation of "You're not a cop, are you?") that only made her nervous, though she got over it. Foreplay felt like a stupid charade, but I went through the motions, for my own sake, not hers.
When we moved into the bedroom, I was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that I slept on a mattress on the floor--I was just a couple years out of college. I lost my erection while she tried to get a condom on, but she managed to get me back up with oral. The oral was the best part of the experience, even with a condom. She was very skillful.
The sex was really average. When she started to moan. I felt like telling her not to bother, but it seemed like it would be rude to do so. Orgasm was a little flicker, quickly dissipated to nothing. But the pressure in my head went away.
She asked me about what I thought afterwards. I didn't really know what to say. (I said something but I don't remember what.) She asked me if I was expecting her to be prettier, and I said she was very pretty. She said: Some guys expect us to look like models. If I looked like a model would I be doing this? Then she seemed sort of embarrassed, like she'd let the cat out of the bag that she didn't really want to have sex with me. No worries, sister. I knew that going in. She asked if she could have my belt. It was strange. It wasn't really a remarkable belt at all, just black leather with a steel buckle. It was probably worth twelve bucks. I told her it was a gift from my brother (true), otherwise it would have been no problem. I walked her out to her car, and she hugged me before she got in. I wondered about that. Maybe she was trying to leave a good impression for potential repeat business, or maybe she was grateful that I'd showered beforehand and didn't try to stick it up her ass. She said to call her any time.
I sat in the dark listening to records afterwards, smoking and thinking about how I had joined this dirty club, and I couldn't take it back. I was forever one of the Johns now. I felt like I had changed something about who I was--and not in a good way--more so than, say, when I lost my virginity. I worried about the money, too. I really couldn't afford it.
Then again, for months afterwards I would find myself thinking that I would do it again, only this time I wouldn't be such a nice guy. I would really take advantage of the situation. I went through a similar escalation with phone sex, like the first time I asked an operator to role-play anal, which at the time was very exciting. But I never made another call, and I've never slept with another prostitute. I regret it now, though I don't think or worry about it anymore. I don't judge sex workers or in general the people who employ them, but it isn't what I want sex to be in my life. I don't think the experience added anything of value to my existence. I have told very few people about it. My brother, and a couple of friends, and the woman who is now my wife, before we started dating, because I knew I wanted to date her, and I figured it was better off being out there. I got appreciably saner, and I stopped calling phone sex, though I do sometimes look at dirty pictures on the internet.
Friday, January 18, 2008
I Went to This Sex Club
I wasn't sure about writing this, like it's something that's sort of looked at askance by so much of society, right? But I was talking to some friends about it, and I actually feel pretty good about it on the whole, so here's the story - google archiving be damned. See, in April of 2007 I went to this sex club. Partytreff, they call it. I'd been planning it for a while, but not concretely - just as a vague vision, an event lying hidden somewhere within the folds of future. It was something that I figured I should do for the experience, just so I wouldn’t be lying on my deathbed someday and just wishing that I had the balls to go and do it when I was younger. But I didn’t really ever think of doing it for real until I was having a really terrible depressing weekend and started looking around online for something like it. I looked at a bunch of websites and forums before finding one that I thought would be good. Wilkommen! the site said, Spass sooft Du willst!
So wtf is a partytreff? Wikipedia says this: “Partytreffs and Pauschalclubs are a variation on partner-swapping swing clubs with (sometimes, but not always) paid prostitutes in attendance, as well as 'amateur' women and couples. Single men pay a flat-rate entrance charge of about 80 to 120 euros, which includes food, drink and unlimited sex sessions, with the added twist that these are performed in the open in full view of all the guests. Women normally pay a low or zero entrance charge.”
So yeah, that was pretty much exactly it, wikipedia knows what it’s talking about. This was the weekend when I found out that my ex had a new boyfriend and was going away with him for the weekend, and I was morose, somewhat filled with self-loathing. Like why the fuck was the ex situation bothering me so much? In the abstract I really hate the concept of jealousy, like I feel it implies some sort of false ownership or something, but the thought of her strolling in the sunshine with this guy, holding hands and laughing and later passionately falling into bed – that really burned me up, especially as I was sitting at home without a thing to do for the entire weekend. I could see myself just lying on the couch for 72 hours (3 day weekend), tv on but not paying attention, stewing in my own misery and just generally feeling impotent and at the mercy of my miserable brain chemistry. Suppose I could’ve tried to alter my senses in other ways, but isn’t there something depressing about getting drunk or stoned or something to forget your misery? Anyway, I did some quick internet research, arranged a rental car and hit the road. Figured that I needed to get laid, and wasn’t in the right place mentally to go meet a stranger and connect with them and try to bring them home…
So the place I went to was in Germany, about an hour and a half from my place, in this little town called Dorsten-Wulfen. The drive up was pretty uneventful, but as I was pulling into the parking lot (the place was just a normal large-ish house that somehow existed in the middle of an office complex), this terrible almost shaking nervousness overwhelmed me, kind of the same feeling I used to get when I was like 13 and trying to nonchalantly flip through a playboy at a friend’s house or something. But I parked, took a deep breath, picked up my book and keys and rang the doorbell. This friendly looking guy in his mid-40’s opened up, gestured me in, and started speaking pretty fast in German. Somehow managed to piece together a bit of what he was saying, gave him a fistful of cash (110 euros, it was usually 88 but that Saturday was more expensive for some reason), was handed a towel and a locker key, and went downstairs to change. There were a few other guys down there, all in their 40’s or 50’s (I'm 28) with huge beer bellies, and we exchanged friendly nods as I put my clothes in the locker and put on the towel. Then upstairs, and over to the bar, where the friendly guy that welcomed me in gave me a big smile and asked what I would like to drink. There was absolutely nobody at the bar except for these two girls, one probably in her early 20’s, blond and nicely shaped, pretty hot, and the other probably in her late 30’s or so, quite a bit skinnier than the blond girl but still sort of attractive. Oh, both were just in their undies, bra and panties, but that somehow seemed normal since I was just wearing a towel. So I got a glass of water and sat down with them since they gestured me over, and we just sort of talked awkwardly about standard nothingness for a few minutes before they gave each other a look and both stood up and grabbed me by the hand and led me upstairs.
Ok, so this place is just like a house, but with somewhat tacky decoration in a faux-wealthy sort of way. Like shiny marble everywhere and fake gold banisters and red velvet curtains and black leather couches and stuff. But otherwise just like a house, except for this enormous bed that dominated the main room on the upper floor. This thing was seriously huge, like probably 20 feet by 15 feet or so, just an enormous thing that would fill up almost my whole living room. There were these two couples already on it, just going at it on either side, but the middle was completely empty, the space remaining probably the size of a whole king-sized bed, perhaps bigger. The girls jumped on the bed, told me to lay my towel down beneath me and gestured that I should lie on my back. Then the sex started, blowjobs and caresses and face-sittings and fucking with both of these semi-hot girls, and the strangest thing about it was how quickly I had suddenly found myself in the midst of all of this, like just a few minutes earlier I was sitting in my car with a book in my hand, wondering if I should go through with this. Surreal.
So pretty much instantly after I came they both turned into these gentle cuddlers where they had been wild tiger women a few seconds earlier, and we just sort of lay there and talked for a little while before they pointed me towards the showers and slapped my ass out of bed. So I showered (antibacterial soap), toweled off and went downstairs for some food. Oh, and just to be clear, everything was done in as safe a way as possible really – condoms and antibacterial wet-wipes and stuff, which surprisingly didn’t detract from the whole flow of things – I guess having your crotch wet-wiped is easy to ignore when someone else is simultaneously kissing your neck and putting your hands on their tits.
Anyway, they had a nice buffet down in the dining room, very german – roast pork, mashed potatoes, red-cabbage-and-apple, bread and cheese, that sort of thing. Ate out on the porch with my book, took it easy for a while and just generally recuperated, had a free beer. Later went in the hot tub, sat there for probably an hour or so, ate some more food, drank some more drinks, used the sauna, and had sex with 7 or 8 other
women, probably 3 of them really really hot, the others just normally sexy. I’d say there were about 20 girls working there, and at the busiest part of the night there were probably 30 guys in the building, a real mix from pretty hot muscular young dudes to a whole bunch of fat middle aged men. Oh, and I’m no superman – when I was in India I bought some Viagra, and early in the evening I took half a pill. What better place to test it, right? Well it works quite impressively, at least for me. There’s no way I could fuck 8 or 9 girls in an evening without it..
The highlight of the night for me was when everyone congregated in the living room and the lights were dimmed as the girls brought out this big inflatable mattress and put it in the middle of the room. A few of them got onto it and started sort of dancing to the music and stripping and generally doing sexy things, and pretty soon this older german fellow with a big grin on his face jumped off the sofa and just dived right in,
and everybody really got a kick out of that, laughing and cheering that such an old fat dude was so ballsy, and after a minute or two these other girls who were sitting with us on the couches started going down on us while this was all going on, and at one point there’s this incredibly sexy girl giving me a blowjob, and I look to my left and there’s this fat middle eastern guy with the biggest grin on his face next to me on the sofa also receiving a bj from an equally hot girl, and we just looked at each other and grinned and shared a can-you-believe-this-is-happening?! look. A little bit later I finally hooked up with the girl I thought was the hottest of them all, kind of a claudia schiffer lookalike but not nearly as leggy, and she gave me an almost painfully powerful blowjob before guiding me into her up against the wall, and then she actually put her legs around me so I was holding her, and we fucked standing up for a while with me carrying her, eventually bouncing her up and down and sort of staggering around the room, and a bunch of guys were good naturedly cheering me on 'cause they could see it was a real powerful exertion, and meanwhile both me and the girl just burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all until the laughter wilted my boner and I put her down. And then I went to the bar to get a drink and the older middle eastern guy that had been next to me on the couch gave me this huge high-five while other dudes were giving me pats on the back and stuff. I dunno, it was really really nice, like it was good natured camaraderie in the midst of what we all usually take so seriously, and it really highlighted just how absurd so many of our societal norms can be when you take them out of their normal context.
Anyway, it was all a really positive experience for me – I had some nice conversations with a few of the girls, ate some wonderful food, relaxed in the hot tub, spent some hours in the sauna, read quite a bit of a book that I was really enjoying, and had a really soul-healing bit of physical exertion with 9 hot girls. As long as I’m not in a relationship, I’ll gladly go again with a friend if anyone feels like going with me – I think the one thing that could’ve made it a lot better would be someone to hang out with and talk to during the day instead of just being there with my book. Guess I could’ve tried to make friends with the other guys there, but my German’s really really terrible, and whenever I tried to communicate with people it just didn’t really work. At any rate, it was a good experience for someone in the throes of post-relationship stress.
So wtf is a partytreff? Wikipedia says this: “Partytreffs and Pauschalclubs are a variation on partner-swapping swing clubs with (sometimes, but not always) paid prostitutes in attendance, as well as 'amateur' women and couples. Single men pay a flat-rate entrance charge of about 80 to 120 euros, which includes food, drink and unlimited sex sessions, with the added twist that these are performed in the open in full view of all the guests. Women normally pay a low or zero entrance charge.”
So yeah, that was pretty much exactly it, wikipedia knows what it’s talking about. This was the weekend when I found out that my ex had a new boyfriend and was going away with him for the weekend, and I was morose, somewhat filled with self-loathing. Like why the fuck was the ex situation bothering me so much? In the abstract I really hate the concept of jealousy, like I feel it implies some sort of false ownership or something, but the thought of her strolling in the sunshine with this guy, holding hands and laughing and later passionately falling into bed – that really burned me up, especially as I was sitting at home without a thing to do for the entire weekend. I could see myself just lying on the couch for 72 hours (3 day weekend), tv on but not paying attention, stewing in my own misery and just generally feeling impotent and at the mercy of my miserable brain chemistry. Suppose I could’ve tried to alter my senses in other ways, but isn’t there something depressing about getting drunk or stoned or something to forget your misery? Anyway, I did some quick internet research, arranged a rental car and hit the road. Figured that I needed to get laid, and wasn’t in the right place mentally to go meet a stranger and connect with them and try to bring them home…
So the place I went to was in Germany, about an hour and a half from my place, in this little town called Dorsten-Wulfen. The drive up was pretty uneventful, but as I was pulling into the parking lot (the place was just a normal large-ish house that somehow existed in the middle of an office complex), this terrible almost shaking nervousness overwhelmed me, kind of the same feeling I used to get when I was like 13 and trying to nonchalantly flip through a playboy at a friend’s house or something. But I parked, took a deep breath, picked up my book and keys and rang the doorbell. This friendly looking guy in his mid-40’s opened up, gestured me in, and started speaking pretty fast in German. Somehow managed to piece together a bit of what he was saying, gave him a fistful of cash (110 euros, it was usually 88 but that Saturday was more expensive for some reason), was handed a towel and a locker key, and went downstairs to change. There were a few other guys down there, all in their 40’s or 50’s (I'm 28) with huge beer bellies, and we exchanged friendly nods as I put my clothes in the locker and put on the towel. Then upstairs, and over to the bar, where the friendly guy that welcomed me in gave me a big smile and asked what I would like to drink. There was absolutely nobody at the bar except for these two girls, one probably in her early 20’s, blond and nicely shaped, pretty hot, and the other probably in her late 30’s or so, quite a bit skinnier than the blond girl but still sort of attractive. Oh, both were just in their undies, bra and panties, but that somehow seemed normal since I was just wearing a towel. So I got a glass of water and sat down with them since they gestured me over, and we just sort of talked awkwardly about standard nothingness for a few minutes before they gave each other a look and both stood up and grabbed me by the hand and led me upstairs.
Ok, so this place is just like a house, but with somewhat tacky decoration in a faux-wealthy sort of way. Like shiny marble everywhere and fake gold banisters and red velvet curtains and black leather couches and stuff. But otherwise just like a house, except for this enormous bed that dominated the main room on the upper floor. This thing was seriously huge, like probably 20 feet by 15 feet or so, just an enormous thing that would fill up almost my whole living room. There were these two couples already on it, just going at it on either side, but the middle was completely empty, the space remaining probably the size of a whole king-sized bed, perhaps bigger. The girls jumped on the bed, told me to lay my towel down beneath me and gestured that I should lie on my back. Then the sex started, blowjobs and caresses and face-sittings and fucking with both of these semi-hot girls, and the strangest thing about it was how quickly I had suddenly found myself in the midst of all of this, like just a few minutes earlier I was sitting in my car with a book in my hand, wondering if I should go through with this. Surreal.
So pretty much instantly after I came they both turned into these gentle cuddlers where they had been wild tiger women a few seconds earlier, and we just sort of lay there and talked for a little while before they pointed me towards the showers and slapped my ass out of bed. So I showered (antibacterial soap), toweled off and went downstairs for some food. Oh, and just to be clear, everything was done in as safe a way as possible really – condoms and antibacterial wet-wipes and stuff, which surprisingly didn’t detract from the whole flow of things – I guess having your crotch wet-wiped is easy to ignore when someone else is simultaneously kissing your neck and putting your hands on their tits.
Anyway, they had a nice buffet down in the dining room, very german – roast pork, mashed potatoes, red-cabbage-and-apple, bread and cheese, that sort of thing. Ate out on the porch with my book, took it easy for a while and just generally recuperated, had a free beer. Later went in the hot tub, sat there for probably an hour or so, ate some more food, drank some more drinks, used the sauna, and had sex with 7 or 8 other
women, probably 3 of them really really hot, the others just normally sexy. I’d say there were about 20 girls working there, and at the busiest part of the night there were probably 30 guys in the building, a real mix from pretty hot muscular young dudes to a whole bunch of fat middle aged men. Oh, and I’m no superman – when I was in India I bought some Viagra, and early in the evening I took half a pill. What better place to test it, right? Well it works quite impressively, at least for me. There’s no way I could fuck 8 or 9 girls in an evening without it..
The highlight of the night for me was when everyone congregated in the living room and the lights were dimmed as the girls brought out this big inflatable mattress and put it in the middle of the room. A few of them got onto it and started sort of dancing to the music and stripping and generally doing sexy things, and pretty soon this older german fellow with a big grin on his face jumped off the sofa and just dived right in,
and everybody really got a kick out of that, laughing and cheering that such an old fat dude was so ballsy, and after a minute or two these other girls who were sitting with us on the couches started going down on us while this was all going on, and at one point there’s this incredibly sexy girl giving me a blowjob, and I look to my left and there’s this fat middle eastern guy with the biggest grin on his face next to me on the sofa also receiving a bj from an equally hot girl, and we just looked at each other and grinned and shared a can-you-believe-this-is-happening?! look. A little bit later I finally hooked up with the girl I thought was the hottest of them all, kind of a claudia schiffer lookalike but not nearly as leggy, and she gave me an almost painfully powerful blowjob before guiding me into her up against the wall, and then she actually put her legs around me so I was holding her, and we fucked standing up for a while with me carrying her, eventually bouncing her up and down and sort of staggering around the room, and a bunch of guys were good naturedly cheering me on 'cause they could see it was a real powerful exertion, and meanwhile both me and the girl just burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all until the laughter wilted my boner and I put her down. And then I went to the bar to get a drink and the older middle eastern guy that had been next to me on the couch gave me this huge high-five while other dudes were giving me pats on the back and stuff. I dunno, it was really really nice, like it was good natured camaraderie in the midst of what we all usually take so seriously, and it really highlighted just how absurd so many of our societal norms can be when you take them out of their normal context.
Anyway, it was all a really positive experience for me – I had some nice conversations with a few of the girls, ate some wonderful food, relaxed in the hot tub, spent some hours in the sauna, read quite a bit of a book that I was really enjoying, and had a really soul-healing bit of physical exertion with 9 hot girls. As long as I’m not in a relationship, I’ll gladly go again with a friend if anyone feels like going with me – I think the one thing that could’ve made it a lot better would be someone to hang out with and talk to during the day instead of just being there with my book. Guess I could’ve tried to make friends with the other guys there, but my German’s really really terrible, and whenever I tried to communicate with people it just didn’t really work. At any rate, it was a good experience for someone in the throes of post-relationship stress.
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