I was a thirty four year old virgin when I first visited a prostitute.
I've always been shy and a bit of a computer geek, and somehow I missed out on opportunities at college and university that might have got my sex life off to a start. Once I graduated I ended up in an IT job, full of other single male geeks. None of us had much in the way of a social life, but I was furthering my career so it didn't seem to matter much. It was only when I hit thirty that I started to worry about the other things missing from my life. At that point, my age and lack of experience were a major worry. I was tempted by online dating, but knew that anyone I might meet would be more sexually experienced than me, and this became a major stumbling block.
At one point, I seriously considered sexual surrogate therapy, but in the end the price put me off. It did, however, make me start thinking about paying for sex, but at a different level. Websites and forums are what I do, and mostly how I interact with other people, so it didn't take me long to find forums devoted to escort work. I researched diligently, read up on the pros and cons, and the dangers, health and otherwise, of seeing escorts. The forums were an eye opener. The escorts posting sounded genuine, even relatively normal, and not the junkies I'd expected. I made up my mind to go for it.
It was still nearly a year before my first experience. I finally selected a woman in a town miles from home, about ten years older than me. I chose a more mature woman, as I felt it would be easier, somehow, to confess my inexperience to her than it would be to a younger girl. The experience itself was mixed. My performance was as you might expect from a first timer, but she was sympathetic and understanding. She didn't clock watch, and I enjoyed her company as much as the sexual activity. I left with a feeling of relief that I'd got it over with, that I was no longer a virgin.
After that, I found other girls local to me. I've had some fantastic experiences and none of the girls have fitted the media mould, here in the UK at least, of trafficked Eastern Europeans or drug addicts. There was the single mum of 19, who was saving to put herself through a college course to get a professional qualification (and she did, successfully, and gave up the escorting to take a less well paid job in her chosen field). There was the recent graduate, making some extra cash while deciding what career path to take. There was the swinger, who had decided that if she was going to do it anyway, she might as well get paid for it. There have been several students, who will leave college without the debt that weighs down their peers.
Overall, more of the experiences have been good than bad. I accept that I'm working at the middle to upper end of the market, but most of the girls I've seen have been intelligent and good company and I put that down to the amount of effort I put in to selection. I'm generally very careful in who I choose, and the less successful experiences have always come when I let myself make a rushed decision.
My plan was for it to be a short term fix, a start towards a normal life and a way of catching up with experiences I should have had ten years ago. It's worked so well, that it's becoming a lifestyle choice. I think I prefer it this way.
Showing posts with label VIRGIN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label VIRGIN. Show all posts
Monday, December 29, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I Wanted To Kill Myself
I have the usual sob story: usual beatings from my dad, his psychological torture, absence of the most beneficial parenting, severe neglect, first generation immigrant experience, raped by my cousin at age 12, social ostracism, extremely repressive Christian environment and the list goes on. Consequently, I grew up being alone, which perpetuates that state, and recently I live with an anxiety disorder that is sometimes debilitating.
By age 29, I became extremely frustrated about my virginity, and decided to finally to visit an SP. I was in Amsterdam. At first, in the oversized Jacuzzi, she caressed my body with hers. This was the first time I touched a woman in a sexual manner. I felt like a human being, and almost cried. We moved on to the bed, but she laughed at me. She positioned her body so that it was difficult for me to have intercourse and eventually she told me to stop when I began to do it with feeling. Another SP had to take over to finish me, but fortunately she was comforting though lacked engagement. After it was over, she counseled me. (She and the other woman were Dutch, and as expected their English was perfect.) One of the advices she gave me was how it does not feel good without love. I wish I could find love, but I know that is not possible for me. That night I felt disgusted, angry and hated myself for seeing an SP. I wanted to kill myself. I went completely against my own moral convictions and support of feminism. The experience was not pleasurable at all, but rather very nerve racking and riddled with guilt throughout the whole act. It was something to simply do it and get it out of the way, so that I would be just like other non-virgin men.
I had two more days left in Amsterdam, so I decided to give it one more try and visited another agency. She was Belgian. She spoke with a French accent, so I had a difficult time comprehending her. Still, she was more comforting and psychologically put me at ease right away. She was affectionate, pretty and even erotic. She gave me a massage, which really put me at ease physically, and when we were doing it she appeared to be enjoying it as well. Of course, she was acting, but I appreciated her effort for a loser like me. I finally felt good, had that “afterglow,” mood of calm and strangely felt free. I ruminated if the moment of orgasm was the only possible authentic state of freedom. She explained something to me that lingered while taking a walk after visiting her, which was that visiting an independent SP or reputable agency was a good and healthy thing, as long as I do not over indulge, because sex is a necessary human experience.
Perhaps, I was becoming a corrupt scum, or I was becoming desensitized to seeing an SP. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss was temporary as all experiences of authenticity are temporary, and I visited SP’s occasionally since then to seek respite from the severe feeling of loneliness. Having discovered what it feels like to be with someone, even with simulated intimacy, I began to long for it more and more. Still, even though the guilt and self-hate is not to the degree that it was when I first started seeing SPs, it continues and sometimes erupts with weight.
I am now 40 years of age, and I have never been with any woman, other than SP’s, because I have always been rejected. However, I also have not tried to initiate even a conversation with most women because of my debilitating anxiety, so I seek the comfort of intimacy with independent SP's to deal with the misery. I realize now that, as a human being, we all need to be touched to at least survive and live on, but once my mom dies I have no reason to live. I have no close or trust worthy friends, and so the loneliness is intense. I am damaged-goods, so even if someone would want me I can’t allow my baggage to affect her life in a negative manner. Therefore, I am not allowed a conventional relationship.
By age 29, I became extremely frustrated about my virginity, and decided to finally to visit an SP. I was in Amsterdam. At first, in the oversized Jacuzzi, she caressed my body with hers. This was the first time I touched a woman in a sexual manner. I felt like a human being, and almost cried. We moved on to the bed, but she laughed at me. She positioned her body so that it was difficult for me to have intercourse and eventually she told me to stop when I began to do it with feeling. Another SP had to take over to finish me, but fortunately she was comforting though lacked engagement. After it was over, she counseled me. (She and the other woman were Dutch, and as expected their English was perfect.) One of the advices she gave me was how it does not feel good without love. I wish I could find love, but I know that is not possible for me. That night I felt disgusted, angry and hated myself for seeing an SP. I wanted to kill myself. I went completely against my own moral convictions and support of feminism. The experience was not pleasurable at all, but rather very nerve racking and riddled with guilt throughout the whole act. It was something to simply do it and get it out of the way, so that I would be just like other non-virgin men.
I had two more days left in Amsterdam, so I decided to give it one more try and visited another agency. She was Belgian. She spoke with a French accent, so I had a difficult time comprehending her. Still, she was more comforting and psychologically put me at ease right away. She was affectionate, pretty and even erotic. She gave me a massage, which really put me at ease physically, and when we were doing it she appeared to be enjoying it as well. Of course, she was acting, but I appreciated her effort for a loser like me. I finally felt good, had that “afterglow,” mood of calm and strangely felt free. I ruminated if the moment of orgasm was the only possible authentic state of freedom. She explained something to me that lingered while taking a walk after visiting her, which was that visiting an independent SP or reputable agency was a good and healthy thing, as long as I do not over indulge, because sex is a necessary human experience.
Perhaps, I was becoming a corrupt scum, or I was becoming desensitized to seeing an SP. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss was temporary as all experiences of authenticity are temporary, and I visited SP’s occasionally since then to seek respite from the severe feeling of loneliness. Having discovered what it feels like to be with someone, even with simulated intimacy, I began to long for it more and more. Still, even though the guilt and self-hate is not to the degree that it was when I first started seeing SPs, it continues and sometimes erupts with weight.
I am now 40 years of age, and I have never been with any woman, other than SP’s, because I have always been rejected. However, I also have not tried to initiate even a conversation with most women because of my debilitating anxiety, so I seek the comfort of intimacy with independent SP's to deal with the misery. I realize now that, as a human being, we all need to be touched to at least survive and live on, but once my mom dies I have no reason to live. I have no close or trust worthy friends, and so the loneliness is intense. I am damaged-goods, so even if someone would want me I can’t allow my baggage to affect her life in a negative manner. Therefore, I am not allowed a conventional relationship.
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.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
I Have a Physical Disability
I have a physical disability known as Cerebral Palsy and am in an electric wheelchair. I have always struggled in my own existence, largely because I rely on a lot of people to assist me with the most basic tasks, such as dressing, showering, getting in and out of bed, and other basic things that many people take for granted. Although I am verbal, and highly intelligent, having acquired two university degrees at the age of 24, people do tend to judge a book by its cover when it comes to things such as dating and sex.
My entire life I have been trapped inside a body that I hate. It never does what I want it to. It always conspires against me. Although I am confident in my intellectual ability, I do not have a very strong self-image. This is largely because every girl I have asked out on a date has rejected me. Some were even cruel enough to say, "Why would I ever go out with a cripple like you?" Even now, I still have not yet had a girlfriend.
A few years back, I was hanging out with a few other disabled guys who were less physically able than I was. They mentioned that they regularly used a pro because it was the only way they could get the release they craved the most. Most of these guys couldn’t lift their heads up on their own, let alone have the ability to please a woman the way they wanted to. They would go to a brothel and get a hand-job once every few weeks. One of them described his first time with a pro in a way that will stick with me for the rest of my life; he said that "It was the first time I felt like a real man."
Sometime later, I fell in love for the first time. After pursuing her for several months, I was rejected once more, but this time was much harder to swallow than the others that came before her. After several weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to do something about it. Remembering the words of my friends, I decided I would visit a brothel. However, unlike my friends, I knew I wanted more than a hand-job. I wanted to lose my virginity.
I searched through the phone book, found a brothel I wanted and asked about the processes involved. I soon discovered that like most things in my life, this could not be a total secret. If I wanted to have sex, I would need somebody to help me shower before and after, as well as to lift me onto the bed. This would put most of my other disabled friends off immediately, but it did not deter me in the slightest. Without a moment's hesitation, I asked my older brother if he could help me. Although he was initially stunned, he reluctantly agreed.
On the night we turned up at the brothel, we were two completely different men. I was excited, nervously anticipating what would await me. My brother, in contrast, was absolutely petrified, afraid that someone he might know would walk in. After a short while, some girls made their way out and introduced themselves. I picked one and we followed her into the room. She stepped out while my brother helped me get organized. I told him to go for a walk, and I’d give him a call when I was ready.
The whole experience was everything I hoped it would be. She started by giving me a massage, which eased my muscles that are normally tight and non-compliant. As she completed the massage, my body felt like it could do anything I wanted, something I had never felt before. She went down on me, and we had sex. She made me feel safe and confident in myself. For that portion of time, having sex with her (even if I had to pay for it) made up for a lifetime of rejection.
It was the most enjoyable experience I have ever had in my life. I would put it down to two things. For once I had gained control over my body, and it felt like I was in control of my life. The worst thing about having a physical disability is the lack of control I have in life. Everything is very clinical, get up at this time, eat at this time, have a shower at this time, and go to bed at this time. I have no control over these things. This time, I got to do things on my own terms. Second, it was the first time I felt like I was being treated like a sexual being with desires and needs that were important. All my life I have been viewed as an asexual being whose desires should be avoided or neglected. The trip to the brothel taught me not to be afraid of my sexuality and not to push it into the background.
I am now a regular customer, although not as regular as I’d like to be. This is mostly because my brother has moved overseas, and it is hard to find people who will willingly accompany me. However, each time I go, I no longer feel like a cripple. I feel whole.
My entire life I have been trapped inside a body that I hate. It never does what I want it to. It always conspires against me. Although I am confident in my intellectual ability, I do not have a very strong self-image. This is largely because every girl I have asked out on a date has rejected me. Some were even cruel enough to say, "Why would I ever go out with a cripple like you?" Even now, I still have not yet had a girlfriend.
A few years back, I was hanging out with a few other disabled guys who were less physically able than I was. They mentioned that they regularly used a pro because it was the only way they could get the release they craved the most. Most of these guys couldn’t lift their heads up on their own, let alone have the ability to please a woman the way they wanted to. They would go to a brothel and get a hand-job once every few weeks. One of them described his first time with a pro in a way that will stick with me for the rest of my life; he said that "It was the first time I felt like a real man."
Sometime later, I fell in love for the first time. After pursuing her for several months, I was rejected once more, but this time was much harder to swallow than the others that came before her. After several weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to do something about it. Remembering the words of my friends, I decided I would visit a brothel. However, unlike my friends, I knew I wanted more than a hand-job. I wanted to lose my virginity.
I searched through the phone book, found a brothel I wanted and asked about the processes involved. I soon discovered that like most things in my life, this could not be a total secret. If I wanted to have sex, I would need somebody to help me shower before and after, as well as to lift me onto the bed. This would put most of my other disabled friends off immediately, but it did not deter me in the slightest. Without a moment's hesitation, I asked my older brother if he could help me. Although he was initially stunned, he reluctantly agreed.
On the night we turned up at the brothel, we were two completely different men. I was excited, nervously anticipating what would await me. My brother, in contrast, was absolutely petrified, afraid that someone he might know would walk in. After a short while, some girls made their way out and introduced themselves. I picked one and we followed her into the room. She stepped out while my brother helped me get organized. I told him to go for a walk, and I’d give him a call when I was ready.
The whole experience was everything I hoped it would be. She started by giving me a massage, which eased my muscles that are normally tight and non-compliant. As she completed the massage, my body felt like it could do anything I wanted, something I had never felt before. She went down on me, and we had sex. She made me feel safe and confident in myself. For that portion of time, having sex with her (even if I had to pay for it) made up for a lifetime of rejection.
It was the most enjoyable experience I have ever had in my life. I would put it down to two things. For once I had gained control over my body, and it felt like I was in control of my life. The worst thing about having a physical disability is the lack of control I have in life. Everything is very clinical, get up at this time, eat at this time, have a shower at this time, and go to bed at this time. I have no control over these things. This time, I got to do things on my own terms. Second, it was the first time I felt like I was being treated like a sexual being with desires and needs that were important. All my life I have been viewed as an asexual being whose desires should be avoided or neglected. The trip to the brothel taught me not to be afraid of my sexuality and not to push it into the background.
I am now a regular customer, although not as regular as I’d like to be. This is mostly because my brother has moved overseas, and it is hard to find people who will willingly accompany me. However, each time I go, I no longer feel like a cripple. I feel whole.
Monday, January 21, 2008
I Was on Anti-Depressants for a While
The first time was when I was 19, high on drugs and fed up with being a virgin. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a teenager, and this was one of the less stupid things. My parents were out of town, and I called an escort. An hour later a skinny, not unattractive blond woman at least six years older than me stood at my door. She was friendly, erotic and obviously quite experienced. It was good, though I wouldn't call it fantastic, and I wasn't a virgin anymore.
My experiences with paid sex have been varied since then. I don't consider myself a 'regular', as I don't have a fixed agency nor a specific brothel, and I don't do it more than maybe a few times a year. But I'm probably the type of guy the sex industry thrives on.
In my mid twenties I was on anti-depressants for a while. One of the side effects of the drugs was that I was perpetually horny, and ironically enough the drugs also made it very hard for me to reach orgasm. I went to a brothel I'd heard from through an acquaintance, the first time I'd ever been in a brothel. Until then escort agencies had been my suppliers of choice.
The girl was stunning. I could barely believe she was in the industry. She turned out to be distant, however, and a bit too professional. I didn't reach orgasm, which I assured her was no fault on her part, and the look she gave me told me she was well-aware that it wasn't her fault.
I quit the anti-depressants shortly after that, having overcome my demons in a more traditional way - by growing up. I continued with the occasional escapade with working girls, when I could afford it and was sufficiently deprived. As my career advanced and my salary increased, so did my visits to brothels become more frequent. I even gave a friend of mine a brothel-visit as a birthday present. He appreciated it.
In my country prostitution is legal and brothels have standards of safety and hygiene to adhere to. As such I've never been too worried about the health of the working girls I've been with, though of course condoms are always used. I wouldn't want to go without them. The thing is, I like going down on women. I like it a lot. The last time I made a visit, I chose this tall, thin brunette with nipple piercings topping her small breasts and a few tasteful tattoos adorning her lean frame. Her eyes smiled as she was introduced to me, and more than anything else that's why I picked her. I went down on her for a full half hour, and after she came (or expertly faked it) she panted that this didn't happen often to her. Whether it was professional courtesy or not, I appreciated the comment. The subsequent fuck was intense and a lot of fun, as if she wanted to repay me. A memorable experience.
And probably my last one. That visit was made when I'd been dating someone for a few weeks. The sex with my new girlfriend wasn't great and she didn't enjoy receiving oral, hence my urge to visit a brothel again. I cheated on her, and now that our relationship has grown it bothers me more than it did then. The sex is still bland, but that is something we can work on, and our emotional bond is much more valuable to me. She hasn't been with many men, and while she knows I've had a more active sex life than her, I haven't the heart to tell her most of my sexual partners were paid ones. Even in my country that's a taboo, a stigma that marks you as a loser. I disagree with it wholeheartedly, but that doesn't make the prejudice go away.
My experiences with paid sex have been varied since then. I don't consider myself a 'regular', as I don't have a fixed agency nor a specific brothel, and I don't do it more than maybe a few times a year. But I'm probably the type of guy the sex industry thrives on.
In my mid twenties I was on anti-depressants for a while. One of the side effects of the drugs was that I was perpetually horny, and ironically enough the drugs also made it very hard for me to reach orgasm. I went to a brothel I'd heard from through an acquaintance, the first time I'd ever been in a brothel. Until then escort agencies had been my suppliers of choice.
The girl was stunning. I could barely believe she was in the industry. She turned out to be distant, however, and a bit too professional. I didn't reach orgasm, which I assured her was no fault on her part, and the look she gave me told me she was well-aware that it wasn't her fault.
I quit the anti-depressants shortly after that, having overcome my demons in a more traditional way - by growing up. I continued with the occasional escapade with working girls, when I could afford it and was sufficiently deprived. As my career advanced and my salary increased, so did my visits to brothels become more frequent. I even gave a friend of mine a brothel-visit as a birthday present. He appreciated it.
In my country prostitution is legal and brothels have standards of safety and hygiene to adhere to. As such I've never been too worried about the health of the working girls I've been with, though of course condoms are always used. I wouldn't want to go without them. The thing is, I like going down on women. I like it a lot. The last time I made a visit, I chose this tall, thin brunette with nipple piercings topping her small breasts and a few tasteful tattoos adorning her lean frame. Her eyes smiled as she was introduced to me, and more than anything else that's why I picked her. I went down on her for a full half hour, and after she came (or expertly faked it) she panted that this didn't happen often to her. Whether it was professional courtesy or not, I appreciated the comment. The subsequent fuck was intense and a lot of fun, as if she wanted to repay me. A memorable experience.
And probably my last one. That visit was made when I'd been dating someone for a few weeks. The sex with my new girlfriend wasn't great and she didn't enjoy receiving oral, hence my urge to visit a brothel again. I cheated on her, and now that our relationship has grown it bothers me more than it did then. The sex is still bland, but that is something we can work on, and our emotional bond is much more valuable to me. She hasn't been with many men, and while she knows I've had a more active sex life than her, I haven't the heart to tell her most of my sexual partners were paid ones. Even in my country that's a taboo, a stigma that marks you as a loser. I disagree with it wholeheartedly, but that doesn't make the prejudice go away.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I Guess You Always Wanted the Pretty Unattainable Mean Girl to Be Getting into Your Car for Sex
It's strange that I remember the first time, because it's been 15 years now and I really haven't thought about it in ages. Everyone in town knew where the main hooker drag was and my friends and I had driven by a few times and even hooted at the girls, but these girls seemed as unattainable as any others. These were beautiful girls, girls who looked like what I imagined strippers and dancers to look like, done up in the classic slutty boots, halter tops and other accoutrements of the classic hooker. We never stopped to ask how much they charged because we knew we couldn't afford it, and now that I think about it, I never saw someone pull over and pick a girl off, or drop one off. It was almost like they were advertising a service available elsewhere, and not really on offer themselves.
Once, years later when I was back in town visiting, I pulled over on a whim and asked how much. "$250 for a blow, $350 for a lay and $400 for a half and half." I naively asked what a half and half was and she curtly explained that it meant she started with a blow and then followed through with sex. Even the basics were out of my price range and I drove off. I never did pick up one of those goddesses, but in the long run it probably wasn't worth it.
I worked in a warehouse not more than a mile from the docks, and occasionally in the mornings I would notice used condoms in our parking lot or our loading dock. I asked my boss about it, and he said that at night there were lots of hookers in the area since it's all warehouses, no one really complains. He would just wash the condoms into the gutter, and said he really didn't care if they used the parking lot to turn tricks at night. Intrigued, I headed down there that night.
At first I couldn't find anyone, looking right around where I worked proved useless, but after driving around in circles for a while, I started noticing a couple of areas where girls would step out of shadows or alleyways as people drove by. They certainly didn't make too much of a show of themselves, but once you knew where to look, it seemed like there was a few dozen here and there. Some were old, fat, ugly or had that used up look that junkies get, but some just looked like normal girls. I think I cruised around there for a couple of nights before I finally got the nerve to stop for a girl.
Now, I was 19 at the time, and although I wasn't a virgin, I wasn't very experienced either, and I'd certainly never done anything like this. I wasn't ready in any sense of the word, I didn't have any cash on me, I was nervous and shaking a little and generally more committed to the voyeurism than I was to the act. Then I saw her.
She was not a goddess by any means, but she was really pretty. She had blonde hair, a nice figure with perky, medium sized breasts and was wearing a black cocktail dress. She actually looked a little out of place, a little less trampy than the other girls I'd seen that night.
I pulled over and asked how much. "$60 for a blow, $140 for sex." Get in, I told her. I had to go to the bank machine, but she didn't seem to mind. Up close she looked to me like a pretty girl from a small town, there was something fashionably dated about her hairstyle that made me think that. She didn't look like anyone I knew, but she had that look that a casting director would look for when casting a generic mean girl in high school. Pretty with just a hint of superiority seemed to be part of her natural look. There was something about that that I really liked, I guess you always wanted the pretty unattainable mean girl to be getting into your car for sex. I figured her to be maybe a couple of years older than me, but it could have just been her expression – jaded or a little hardened. I elected for blow job because it seemed like a better way to start and frankly, I really wanted a blow job.
She made me stop at a pay phone for a second, then we chit chatted as I looked for an ATM. She said she was from a small town not too far away and that she had a baby she was trying to support. She volunteered that she wasn't on drugs – I hadn't asked – and it occurred to me that I really didn't care if she was telling the truth. She was smiling when she told me these things, and I think it was obvious to her – by my age or by my demeanor – that I'd never done something like this before. I hit the bank machine, took out $80 and she directed me to a secluded spot where I pulled over. She wasn't rude, she had kind of a flirty way about her and she smiled a lot. I think she could tell I was nervous and she sort of took charge.
She told me to pull my pants down past my knees, I did. I was already hard and she started to put a condom on me. I realized suddenly that with a blow job, I wasn't going to get to see her naked, and suddenly that bothered me. "Wait, I want to play with your tits a little." She told me it would be an extra $40. I offered her the other $20 that I had and without a word she lowered the straps of her dress. I clearly remember her breasts, they were great. Perky, firm, not a hint of sag, big areolas with nipples the size of the tips of one of my fingers. I played with them a little, sucked on one, then the other and then let her get on with her work.
One note on the condom, when she took it out, and I realized that I was getting a blow job while wearing a condom, I didn't complain but I did feel a mix of relief and disappointment. I knew it wasn't going to be as nice as it would be without one, but at the same time, I knew it was as much for my protection as it was for hers.
I've always used condoms when with pros, with a few occasions where a girl surprised me taking my cock into her mouth. Even then, with what they call a bare back blow job, I've never been too comfortable with the idea. I don't want a disease, and if she takes care of herself, she's making it safer for me. Anyway…
She said one thing before going down on me. "Ya got a big dick. You should do porno movies." As she blew me I thought about that. Was that something that hookers were supposed to say? Was it true? I was pretty sure it wasn't. Anyway, in a couple of seconds it all became academic and I leaned back and let her do her work while I half heartedly fondled her breasts.
I didn't last long, she straightened herself out, took the condom off, wrapped it in a tissue and threw it out of the car. She offered me another tissue to wipe up, I did and drove her back to her spot. I cruised that area looking for her again, but never found her. Maybe she moved to a new area, maybe she quit or maybe something happened to her. I never even got a pretend name.
Once, years later when I was back in town visiting, I pulled over on a whim and asked how much. "$250 for a blow, $350 for a lay and $400 for a half and half." I naively asked what a half and half was and she curtly explained that it meant she started with a blow and then followed through with sex. Even the basics were out of my price range and I drove off. I never did pick up one of those goddesses, but in the long run it probably wasn't worth it.
I worked in a warehouse not more than a mile from the docks, and occasionally in the mornings I would notice used condoms in our parking lot or our loading dock. I asked my boss about it, and he said that at night there were lots of hookers in the area since it's all warehouses, no one really complains. He would just wash the condoms into the gutter, and said he really didn't care if they used the parking lot to turn tricks at night. Intrigued, I headed down there that night.
At first I couldn't find anyone, looking right around where I worked proved useless, but after driving around in circles for a while, I started noticing a couple of areas where girls would step out of shadows or alleyways as people drove by. They certainly didn't make too much of a show of themselves, but once you knew where to look, it seemed like there was a few dozen here and there. Some were old, fat, ugly or had that used up look that junkies get, but some just looked like normal girls. I think I cruised around there for a couple of nights before I finally got the nerve to stop for a girl.
Now, I was 19 at the time, and although I wasn't a virgin, I wasn't very experienced either, and I'd certainly never done anything like this. I wasn't ready in any sense of the word, I didn't have any cash on me, I was nervous and shaking a little and generally more committed to the voyeurism than I was to the act. Then I saw her.
She was not a goddess by any means, but she was really pretty. She had blonde hair, a nice figure with perky, medium sized breasts and was wearing a black cocktail dress. She actually looked a little out of place, a little less trampy than the other girls I'd seen that night.
I pulled over and asked how much. "$60 for a blow, $140 for sex." Get in, I told her. I had to go to the bank machine, but she didn't seem to mind. Up close she looked to me like a pretty girl from a small town, there was something fashionably dated about her hairstyle that made me think that. She didn't look like anyone I knew, but she had that look that a casting director would look for when casting a generic mean girl in high school. Pretty with just a hint of superiority seemed to be part of her natural look. There was something about that that I really liked, I guess you always wanted the pretty unattainable mean girl to be getting into your car for sex. I figured her to be maybe a couple of years older than me, but it could have just been her expression – jaded or a little hardened. I elected for blow job because it seemed like a better way to start and frankly, I really wanted a blow job.
She made me stop at a pay phone for a second, then we chit chatted as I looked for an ATM. She said she was from a small town not too far away and that she had a baby she was trying to support. She volunteered that she wasn't on drugs – I hadn't asked – and it occurred to me that I really didn't care if she was telling the truth. She was smiling when she told me these things, and I think it was obvious to her – by my age or by my demeanor – that I'd never done something like this before. I hit the bank machine, took out $80 and she directed me to a secluded spot where I pulled over. She wasn't rude, she had kind of a flirty way about her and she smiled a lot. I think she could tell I was nervous and she sort of took charge.
She told me to pull my pants down past my knees, I did. I was already hard and she started to put a condom on me. I realized suddenly that with a blow job, I wasn't going to get to see her naked, and suddenly that bothered me. "Wait, I want to play with your tits a little." She told me it would be an extra $40. I offered her the other $20 that I had and without a word she lowered the straps of her dress. I clearly remember her breasts, they were great. Perky, firm, not a hint of sag, big areolas with nipples the size of the tips of one of my fingers. I played with them a little, sucked on one, then the other and then let her get on with her work.
One note on the condom, when she took it out, and I realized that I was getting a blow job while wearing a condom, I didn't complain but I did feel a mix of relief and disappointment. I knew it wasn't going to be as nice as it would be without one, but at the same time, I knew it was as much for my protection as it was for hers.
I've always used condoms when with pros, with a few occasions where a girl surprised me taking my cock into her mouth. Even then, with what they call a bare back blow job, I've never been too comfortable with the idea. I don't want a disease, and if she takes care of herself, she's making it safer for me. Anyway…
She said one thing before going down on me. "Ya got a big dick. You should do porno movies." As she blew me I thought about that. Was that something that hookers were supposed to say? Was it true? I was pretty sure it wasn't. Anyway, in a couple of seconds it all became academic and I leaned back and let her do her work while I half heartedly fondled her breasts.
I didn't last long, she straightened herself out, took the condom off, wrapped it in a tissue and threw it out of the car. She offered me another tissue to wipe up, I did and drove her back to her spot. I cruised that area looking for her again, but never found her. Maybe she moved to a new area, maybe she quit or maybe something happened to her. I never even got a pretend name.
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