It was a week long bachelor party in Colombia for a good friend of mine. The planning took months discussion, most of which centered around the hookers and how much fun it would be. We finally managed to book flights and though a business contact rented 2 apartments. One of our biggest fears, would it be difficult or complicated to get a hold of girls, was alleviated when we got into our first taxi on the way from the airport. I expect that five 30 year old buddies traveling alone in Colombia was a dead giveaway and the driver asked quietly if we wanted coke or girls. We quickly asked for both and a 5 day ride of depravity began. We where soon on our way to what we understood to be a club of some sort to pick up girls which we understood to be prostitutes of some sort. Unfortunately our drivers had underestimated our purchasing power and we ended up in some horrible local whorehouse on the outskirts of the city. The place was damp and dark with bare cement floors and people in varied states of inebriation and fornication spread around the complex. It was a violent shock to most of us as we realised that the money we planned to spend on the trip made us omnipotent with regards to getting a hold of any working girl down there.
We managed to explain to the drivers that we wanted a more classy place and ended up in a brothel with a plexiglass covered shower and women all over the place (can't get more classy than that). The women attacked us as flies to shit as soon as we walked in the door and this time we didn't hesitate to each pick a girl for the night. The one I had picked has some sort of a problem and disappeared into the back rooms leaving me with little time to find another. Just as I was about to give up and select randomly a tall, black girl walked passed and caught my eye. After a quick discussion with the madam of the house and a payment of maybe 300 dollars total we piled into the cars and headed back for a unforgettable night.
As we arrived all our anxiety and inhibitions disappeared. We felt safe in the apartments and the girls where pros contracted for a full night. At first we chitchated and drank a bit before taking each of our girls to a private room or at least a private corner for some fun. After a while the scene dissolved into some sort of high-school orgy. Everyone got drunk and high and at one point a friend was pretending to interview me with a camera while I screwed my ebony princess on the couch. Another buddy took a girl on the balcony in full view of any neighbor and no one bothered with clothes for the rest of the night. At one point during the next morning a telephone repairman knocked on the door and we had to ask him to wait while we carried two naked and semiconscious girls into the bedroom. I can't image what went though his mind when he entered the living room.
The following days became more subdued and the reality of what we where doing began to sink in for some of us. We discovered that all the girls had admitted that they where mothers and that they lived in the brothel while making money to support their kids who I imagined lived somewhere else. I can't speak for the rest, but the guilt of my total lack of self-control on the trip hits me in the gut every time I think of it. I know I can't change the economic situation for these girls, but I'm morally disgusted by how much I enjoyed sex with the most sensual women I've ever met while at the same time she has no choice in the matter.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I Just Came Undone
She was truly a beauty, and young, and sweet, almost certainly a college student there in Tampa. There we were, her and I, a small room, a massage parlor, 1974. She got my clothes undone, and some of her own. She proceeded to patiently and lovingly give me one of the very few orgasms I've ever had from oral sex; this girl hung in with me, and hung in with me, and hung in with me some more, she gently and carefully worked me over until I just came undone. An amazing experience, very powerful. She rocked my world. This woman rocked my world.
When I finally came back to space/time, after I'd quit writhing, moaning, shaking, spasming, I sat up, found myself with her, and this sweet woman came to me, expectantly, knowing the love she'd just given me -- and you can say it wasn't love but then you just flat don't understand the word -- she came to me to give me a kiss, or share with me a kiss I think is more accurate, given what'd just transpired, given the look on her face, the look in her eyes.
But I -- young, foolish, green, not yet understanding love, or much else -- my uptight stupidity kept me from kissing 'a whore'.
How I wish I had kissed her.
I've thought of her, and of myself, of how bad I felt even as I turned away from her kiss. Our kiss, I guess. It's a sadness, a regret.
I'm writing to square this, in the only way that I can, and I know she's not reading this but maybe another sweet woman who loves on young fools can read this and apply what I'm saying to the idiots she touches today, maybe in these words she'll see that those frozen men who turn from her gifts of love are going to be thinking of her not only later tonight but also years from now, maybe my words will be full circle in some odd way.
Thanks to you for your gift of love, sweet young woman -- I wish I'd have loved you back, I truly do -- and to every loving young woman today and any other day.
When I finally came back to space/time, after I'd quit writhing, moaning, shaking, spasming, I sat up, found myself with her, and this sweet woman came to me, expectantly, knowing the love she'd just given me -- and you can say it wasn't love but then you just flat don't understand the word -- she came to me to give me a kiss, or share with me a kiss I think is more accurate, given what'd just transpired, given the look on her face, the look in her eyes.
But I -- young, foolish, green, not yet understanding love, or much else -- my uptight stupidity kept me from kissing 'a whore'.
How I wish I had kissed her.
I've thought of her, and of myself, of how bad I felt even as I turned away from her kiss. Our kiss, I guess. It's a sadness, a regret.
I'm writing to square this, in the only way that I can, and I know she's not reading this but maybe another sweet woman who loves on young fools can read this and apply what I'm saying to the idiots she touches today, maybe in these words she'll see that those frozen men who turn from her gifts of love are going to be thinking of her not only later tonight but also years from now, maybe my words will be full circle in some odd way.
Thanks to you for your gift of love, sweet young woman -- I wish I'd have loved you back, I truly do -- and to every loving young woman today and any other day.
Monday, January 28, 2008
I'm Not a John
I’m not a john. Never wanted to be one.
Not for any great moralistic reasons, not because it is bad or sinful or exploitative or anything like that, although I later developed some opinions on that. But because I never felt any attraction at all towards the idea.
For me, sex is basically a friendly act. You don’t have to be in love or anything, but for sex to be interesting for me, it has to be accepting and participatory; basically, if a woman isn’t actually interested in having sex with me, I’m not interested in having sex with her. So if I am paying someone to pretend to like me or be turned on, well, it feels about as sexy as cold mashed potatoes.
And all this would be fine, but because of my social work type job, over the years I have found myself on various prostitution groups; some working to help sex-workers, some to abate street-level prostitution, some to help underage sex-workers, and so on. And when you are doing that kind of work, well there is always the nagging suspicion that you are actually a john, rather like the pedophile/cub-scout leader. There seems to almost be an assumption that all men are potential johns, only being held back by money, or a spouse, or social conditioning, or religious/ethical beliefs. It is rather like the fundies that are so scared of gay sex: they almost seem to think that every man has a fag lurking within, struggling to get out and enjoy addictive gay sex.
Well it just ain’t so. And I really don’t like people thinking this way about me. But when you are actually working with sex-workers and ex-sex-workers, they seem to almost have an article of faith that all men have either hired a hooker, or want to. And that because of their work, they think that they are some kind of sex expert, and have a good understanding of male psychology. (Porn stars seem to get into the same way of thinking--one thing about sex work I think, is that it can warp your thinking.) Which isn’t true, they just have a good understanding of the psychology of johns, who are, I believe, a minority. (I also don’t believe the figures given for the porn industry--I suspect that the numbers are a lot smaller, and that there are a small percentage of porn consumers that consume the majority of the porn sold. But that’s just my guess.)
It is true, as Mark Twain said, that 90% of men masturbate, and the other 10% lie about it, and it is also true that there isn’t a man alive that hasn’t enjoyed looking at some kind of porn or other a few times if he has had the opportunity, but it is not true that every man is a potential john. Indeed, not every man is even a stripper spectator. I went to a few shows, and it was interesting at first in an almost anthropological sort of way, but once you’ve seen a couple of shows, you’ve seen them all, it gets dull as ditchwater listening to bad music, drinking over-priced drinks, and being surrounded by losers. I just don’t get the guys that are into that either.
I know from experience that street-level prostitution is a very nasty business. It is very dangerous work, where assault and rape is a matter of When, not If. It pays terribly, and workers are ruthlessly and violently exploited by pimps and gangs and dealers. And most of them are doing it out of desperation, usually driven by addiction.
There is a very old cultural myth, the hopeful belief in the carefree happy hooker, the prostitute with the heart of gold, the satisfied professional. And I am sure there are some, working as escorts and such, I have no direct knowledge, but in my experience, there are damn few working on the street. Most of the women working on the street that I have encountered are desperately unhappy; not unhappy because they are hooking, but more that they are hooking because they are unhappy, or perhaps that the same things that are making them unhappy are also driving them to sell their bodies.
My experiences have turned me from being bored by the whole notion of hiring a hooker, to being repulsed by the idea. When you have seen, when you know, why a hooker is doing what she is doing, what her life is like, only a monster or sociopath could want to engage in it. I’ve seen too many needle tracks, too many apprehended children, too many disappearances, too many bruises and cuts and fits of terror and panic.
In the cities I have worked in, and when I talk to my colleagues in other cities, the levels of street prostitution seem to be falling. There are probably a lot of factors behind this, but one of them seems to be smarter policing: most of the time the cops aren’t targeting street-walkers, they are targeting the johns. And johns tend to be a fairly frightened bunch, and easy to scare off with publicized busts and car confiscations and mandatory attendance at john-schools. But we really don’t understand the psychology at work; I really don’t think it is as simple as being horny and finding an outlet.
A group I was working with started recording the license plates of guys cruising the stroll, and we compiled a fairly large database before the government cracked down and stopped releasing information on the plates to us. But while we were running it, we discovered a few interesting things. First of all, the johns were coming from every part of the city, except the neighborhood of the stroll itself. Proportionally, they were coming from every neighborhood of the city: there was no distinction between high-income, middle-class, and poor neighborhoods. Which surprised us, we had figured the rich guys would patronize escorts, and poor guys wouldn’t have the cash. But it turns out that a desire to slum with a street-hooker crosses class and income lines. Which is I suppose bad news.
(And what probably helped in shutting us down was that a few of plates turned out to belong to fairly prominent/well-connected people in the community, hmm.)
The second thing that the data showed was that there weren’t all that many johns. What there was were high-repeat johns; the majority of the traffic were the same guys coming back again and again. Which I would take as good news; maybe I am right and most men are not in fact actual, and hopefully not potential, johns.
What we were starting to discover, when they shut us down, was that over half of the johns appeared to be married (and a significant number of the cars had baby or child seats in the back, ick). Hiring a hooker, it seemed, was not so much about seeking a source of sexual outlet, but a hobby or vocation or pastime of its own. Some men seem to like being johns, like hiring street workers for its own sake. Which seems rather strange to me. But perhaps some of the radfems are right about at least some men: they seem to like exploitative, power-imbalanced sex.
But please, they ain’t most of us.
Not for any great moralistic reasons, not because it is bad or sinful or exploitative or anything like that, although I later developed some opinions on that. But because I never felt any attraction at all towards the idea.
For me, sex is basically a friendly act. You don’t have to be in love or anything, but for sex to be interesting for me, it has to be accepting and participatory; basically, if a woman isn’t actually interested in having sex with me, I’m not interested in having sex with her. So if I am paying someone to pretend to like me or be turned on, well, it feels about as sexy as cold mashed potatoes.
And all this would be fine, but because of my social work type job, over the years I have found myself on various prostitution groups; some working to help sex-workers, some to abate street-level prostitution, some to help underage sex-workers, and so on. And when you are doing that kind of work, well there is always the nagging suspicion that you are actually a john, rather like the pedophile/cub-scout leader. There seems to almost be an assumption that all men are potential johns, only being held back by money, or a spouse, or social conditioning, or religious/ethical beliefs. It is rather like the fundies that are so scared of gay sex: they almost seem to think that every man has a fag lurking within, struggling to get out and enjoy addictive gay sex.
Well it just ain’t so. And I really don’t like people thinking this way about me. But when you are actually working with sex-workers and ex-sex-workers, they seem to almost have an article of faith that all men have either hired a hooker, or want to. And that because of their work, they think that they are some kind of sex expert, and have a good understanding of male psychology. (Porn stars seem to get into the same way of thinking--one thing about sex work I think, is that it can warp your thinking.) Which isn’t true, they just have a good understanding of the psychology of johns, who are, I believe, a minority. (I also don’t believe the figures given for the porn industry--I suspect that the numbers are a lot smaller, and that there are a small percentage of porn consumers that consume the majority of the porn sold. But that’s just my guess.)
It is true, as Mark Twain said, that 90% of men masturbate, and the other 10% lie about it, and it is also true that there isn’t a man alive that hasn’t enjoyed looking at some kind of porn or other a few times if he has had the opportunity, but it is not true that every man is a potential john. Indeed, not every man is even a stripper spectator. I went to a few shows, and it was interesting at first in an almost anthropological sort of way, but once you’ve seen a couple of shows, you’ve seen them all, it gets dull as ditchwater listening to bad music, drinking over-priced drinks, and being surrounded by losers. I just don’t get the guys that are into that either.
I know from experience that street-level prostitution is a very nasty business. It is very dangerous work, where assault and rape is a matter of When, not If. It pays terribly, and workers are ruthlessly and violently exploited by pimps and gangs and dealers. And most of them are doing it out of desperation, usually driven by addiction.
There is a very old cultural myth, the hopeful belief in the carefree happy hooker, the prostitute with the heart of gold, the satisfied professional. And I am sure there are some, working as escorts and such, I have no direct knowledge, but in my experience, there are damn few working on the street. Most of the women working on the street that I have encountered are desperately unhappy; not unhappy because they are hooking, but more that they are hooking because they are unhappy, or perhaps that the same things that are making them unhappy are also driving them to sell their bodies.
My experiences have turned me from being bored by the whole notion of hiring a hooker, to being repulsed by the idea. When you have seen, when you know, why a hooker is doing what she is doing, what her life is like, only a monster or sociopath could want to engage in it. I’ve seen too many needle tracks, too many apprehended children, too many disappearances, too many bruises and cuts and fits of terror and panic.
In the cities I have worked in, and when I talk to my colleagues in other cities, the levels of street prostitution seem to be falling. There are probably a lot of factors behind this, but one of them seems to be smarter policing: most of the time the cops aren’t targeting street-walkers, they are targeting the johns. And johns tend to be a fairly frightened bunch, and easy to scare off with publicized busts and car confiscations and mandatory attendance at john-schools. But we really don’t understand the psychology at work; I really don’t think it is as simple as being horny and finding an outlet.
A group I was working with started recording the license plates of guys cruising the stroll, and we compiled a fairly large database before the government cracked down and stopped releasing information on the plates to us. But while we were running it, we discovered a few interesting things. First of all, the johns were coming from every part of the city, except the neighborhood of the stroll itself. Proportionally, they were coming from every neighborhood of the city: there was no distinction between high-income, middle-class, and poor neighborhoods. Which surprised us, we had figured the rich guys would patronize escorts, and poor guys wouldn’t have the cash. But it turns out that a desire to slum with a street-hooker crosses class and income lines. Which is I suppose bad news.
(And what probably helped in shutting us down was that a few of plates turned out to belong to fairly prominent/well-connected people in the community, hmm.)
The second thing that the data showed was that there weren’t all that many johns. What there was were high-repeat johns; the majority of the traffic were the same guys coming back again and again. Which I would take as good news; maybe I am right and most men are not in fact actual, and hopefully not potential, johns.
What we were starting to discover, when they shut us down, was that over half of the johns appeared to be married (and a significant number of the cars had baby or child seats in the back, ick). Hiring a hooker, it seemed, was not so much about seeking a source of sexual outlet, but a hobby or vocation or pastime of its own. Some men seem to like being johns, like hiring street workers for its own sake. Which seems rather strange to me. But perhaps some of the radfems are right about at least some men: they seem to like exploitative, power-imbalanced sex.
But please, they ain’t most of us.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I Had Taken Up a Part Time Endeavor Involving a Certain Amount of Sales
I was 18 or 19 the first time I had any extended time without sex since I had hit puberty. (Everyone knows those little towns where no one has anything to do but party or screw...) At the time, I had taken up a part time endeavor involving a certain amount of sales. A slightly older acquaintance and friend of friends was perusing my store and for some reason it just occurred to me that I'd just about do anything to get some. After some nervous half-jokes, I finally said something about it and made it clear I was serious. The young lady was not the most attractive in our group of friends, but I've never been entirely shallow, nor was I in a position to be picky. Needless to say, I received oral stimulation for what amounted to about $10 of merchandise. Years later, I'm still in contact with others who are in contact with her and that's the real story. Now some 7 or so years later she is quite attractive, although her jail time and record are not.
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.
Friday, January 11, 2008
I Was 22
I was 22 and set off for the my first trip to Europe at the beginning of summer break at my college. I only knew the rudiments of Latin which I had studied in high school and had no real destination. I began in the Netherland, Amsterdam and traveled by the seat of my pants for the next month. After the flight and short train ride I was at Centraal station Amsterdam. I had plenty of money saved up for the trip and a few days booked at a hostel downtown. While walking around taking in the sights of the city's abundant nightlife I stumbled into the infamous red light district. The place itself was beautiful with red neon lights reflecting off the many shops and windows that gave everything a pink haze. The area smelled of cigarettes and Pommes. There was a canal dividing the street which I kept close to as I watched people watch prostitutes. The people I observed actually soliciting were many and varied. Business men in dark suits from every ethnic background, groups of young boys daring each other to talk to women in the windows they didn't have the guts to talk to themselves, US military men, and a host of others.
I honestly did not plan to actually try it, but felt infected with the aura of the people around me and finally gave in. I probably walked down the canal each direction 3 times before I could muster the courage to approach one. She was a cute Croatian girl in one of the side streets. She reminded me of a girl I had always wanted to fool around with in high school. I went into her little room, and she pulled the drape over the window over. My earlier observations led me to try and set a price. I think it was my first time negotiating the price of anything. I was so used to paying the listed price and then tax since I owned a wallet. We agreed on a 100 Euro for a half hour. I think I was so nervous that I could barely get it up so I figured I would spend the first ten minutes making small talk and trying to get to know her a bit. She was the same age as me and had been living in Croatia until a few months ago. I ended up talking about myself and asking her about the industry in general. We ended up talking until her alarm went off and realized I only had 5 minutes left. I paid for another half hour and got right down to it. She inspected me then put the condom on herself. The experience was rather interesting as I had never had sex with a body length mirror next to the bed. At times I wanted to kiss her which I found out is not common practice. I settled for trying to kiss her breast, but there was some kind of glitter and perfume on it and decided against trying again. At the end I was rather disappointed. I think it might have been better had I not been laid for a while but I was glad of the experience.
I don't know if this is the proper format but it was the best I could recall from memory and the journal I kept of the event.
I honestly did not plan to actually try it, but felt infected with the aura of the people around me and finally gave in. I probably walked down the canal each direction 3 times before I could muster the courage to approach one. She was a cute Croatian girl in one of the side streets. She reminded me of a girl I had always wanted to fool around with in high school. I went into her little room, and she pulled the drape over the window over. My earlier observations led me to try and set a price. I think it was my first time negotiating the price of anything. I was so used to paying the listed price and then tax since I owned a wallet. We agreed on a 100 Euro for a half hour. I think I was so nervous that I could barely get it up so I figured I would spend the first ten minutes making small talk and trying to get to know her a bit. She was the same age as me and had been living in Croatia until a few months ago. I ended up talking about myself and asking her about the industry in general. We ended up talking until her alarm went off and realized I only had 5 minutes left. I paid for another half hour and got right down to it. She inspected me then put the condom on herself. The experience was rather interesting as I had never had sex with a body length mirror next to the bed. At times I wanted to kiss her which I found out is not common practice. I settled for trying to kiss her breast, but there was some kind of glitter and perfume on it and decided against trying again. At the end I was rather disappointed. I think it might have been better had I not been laid for a while but I was glad of the experience.
I don't know if this is the proper format but it was the best I could recall from memory and the journal I kept of the event.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I Was in the Navy
I was in the Navy from 1985 to 1991, stationed mostly on the West Coast which afforded me several trips to the Orient. The saying of “Young, dumb, and full of cum” was more then just a cliché for us. Though much of my memory is hazy from that period, I will recall the trip to Thailand. Pattaya Beach is where we had landed, but me and my friend, Freddy managed to string a couple days off together and we took the train trip to Bangkok. We got a room and met up with some other friends there and went to get a cab. I am guessing that because we conveyed to our non-English speaking cab-driver that we wanted girls and that we were generally cheap enlisted folk, he took us to a place called “The Poor House”. As we pulled up to an old, almost warehouse looking place on the dimly lit, poor side of town we saw some very sad images. There were some girls aged from around 8-12 years old milling about on the steps. I would not consider us ones of high morals, per se, but we were not pedophiles. We expressed our disdain and made sure we included “drinking” and “bar” in our descriptions of where we wanted to go. We were taken to a more westernized strip of bars. The girls more or less free-lanced for the bars they associated with instead of there being a papa-san or mama-san to negotiate with. It was my friend Freddy’s birthday so I paid for him a prostitute once we had settled on a pair. I believe it was around 30-40$ for all night. We got more booze and went to our room. I think I still have some blurry photos from that night somewhere. I recall saying I could blackmail him should he run for office. At one point I know we swapped girls because it became a point of contention when about a week later, out to sea, on our way back, the tell-tale signs of burning sensation when peeing became apparent for both of us. We were not the only ones as the line to the medical facility was the longest I had even seen. We were fortunate not to have the drug resistant/virulent type gonorrhea that some had gotten and as we were single, we were not sweating it like many of the married ones were. I remember seeing an article in the Seattle paper a few months later that mentioned an un-named ship that had after taking a 4 month Orient cruise had one the highest rates of STD’s, almost 2/3rds of the crew (600-700 personnel) though I wondered if they counted some people twice. My 1st and last time with an STD, btw. We were stocked up on the free condoms they gave away after that.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
I Was on the Verge of Losing It
I'm 28, a moderately successful and over-educated white guy and I've been seeing prostitutes for about 2 years now.
It started after a really horrible break-up, a death in my family and a job loss all occurred within the same 3 month period. I was dealing with things that were just awful and horrid (wakes, unemployment, depression, relationship dramatics) all the time and I was on the verge of losing it. I did have an inheritance so money wasn't tight at least.
I was on Craigslist one night, bored, lonely and horny. So I wandered to the Erotic Services section. I was pretty put off by most of the ads. I consider myself very liberal and think of the sex industry as generally pretty exploitive and cruel. Seeing all the ads that were clearly put up by very desperate women was anti-arousing really.
Then I saw B's posting. She was a curvy artist who described herself as a 'courtesan'. She posted a Jean-Leon Gerome painting of a reclining Harem girl instead of a face picture. I was curious, called her and booked a session.
She came to my place and was absolutely wonderful. We talked about art, music sex-positive porn, genderfucking, queer theory and BDSM. I've always had kink in my heart but hearing someone so open, so free in expressing it was wonderful. She was an amazing lover and I enjoyed her company as much as the sex. I felt free to experiment, to play and because it was a professional exchange I didn't feel as shy. Not that I was disrespectful of her, but asking your girlfriend to us a strap-on has a lot more nuances to it than asking your 'courtesan'.
I started seeing her once or twice a month and have kept on doing so even though I've been in relationships. I won't lie and say I don't think of it as cheating, it is. I finally stopped when I met a woman who, to be honest, shared a lot of similarities with B. I told B about this and she wished me nothing but happiness. We've spoken a few times since and seen each other socially. It's a bit like work friends after one person has moved to a different job.
B was an eye-opener in a lot of ways. Most of all, she showed me what I really wanted in a partner. My girlfriends before had been very much the type of women I thought my family or friends would approve of. After B I knew I wanted someone who shared not only my kinks but my passions as well. I'm really grateful to her. I've had friends comment on how I've changed and how I've become so much more confident and assured. In no small measure, B is responsible for that.
It started after a really horrible break-up, a death in my family and a job loss all occurred within the same 3 month period. I was dealing with things that were just awful and horrid (wakes, unemployment, depression, relationship dramatics) all the time and I was on the verge of losing it. I did have an inheritance so money wasn't tight at least.
I was on Craigslist one night, bored, lonely and horny. So I wandered to the Erotic Services section. I was pretty put off by most of the ads. I consider myself very liberal and think of the sex industry as generally pretty exploitive and cruel. Seeing all the ads that were clearly put up by very desperate women was anti-arousing really.
Then I saw B's posting. She was a curvy artist who described herself as a 'courtesan'. She posted a Jean-Leon Gerome painting of a reclining Harem girl instead of a face picture. I was curious, called her and booked a session.
She came to my place and was absolutely wonderful. We talked about art, music sex-positive porn, genderfucking, queer theory and BDSM. I've always had kink in my heart but hearing someone so open, so free in expressing it was wonderful. She was an amazing lover and I enjoyed her company as much as the sex. I felt free to experiment, to play and because it was a professional exchange I didn't feel as shy. Not that I was disrespectful of her, but asking your girlfriend to us a strap-on has a lot more nuances to it than asking your 'courtesan'.
I started seeing her once or twice a month and have kept on doing so even though I've been in relationships. I won't lie and say I don't think of it as cheating, it is. I finally stopped when I met a woman who, to be honest, shared a lot of similarities with B. I told B about this and she wished me nothing but happiness. We've spoken a few times since and seen each other socially. It's a bit like work friends after one person has moved to a different job.
B was an eye-opener in a lot of ways. Most of all, she showed me what I really wanted in a partner. My girlfriends before had been very much the type of women I thought my family or friends would approve of. After B I knew I wanted someone who shared not only my kinks but my passions as well. I'm really grateful to her. I've had friends comment on how I've changed and how I've become so much more confident and assured. In no small measure, B is responsible for that.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
I Have Come to the Conclusion That Hookers Are Not for Me
A guy friend of mine and myself had been partying and didn't feel like going home, so we went to a whorehouse. It is not hard to do here in Reno, NV, all you need to do is drive to the outlying counties and there you are, whorehouse haven.
You walk into the place and the madam calls all the available girls to stand in a line in front of you for you to choose from. Most commonly the John delays his choice until later preferring to sit at the bar and have a $10 beer while he decides (at least this is what my friend and I did). Negotiations are not allowed to be made in the open area of the bar lounge area, when a girl approaches you she asks to take you to her room to discuss rates. In the 20 or so minutes it took for me to drink my beer I noticed quite a few Johns going back to negotiate only to return quite soon afterwards, obviously not having come to settle on a price. I was approached by a older Asian lady, she was attractive and I liked the idea of being with an Asian so we went to negotiate. A co-worker of mine who frequents these establishments had told me he pays $150 for a 1/2 & 1/2 (half blow job, half sex) so I had a mental parameter of where I needed to be. When I proposed my offer the prostitute scoffed and said she would only perform a hand job for a $150, which I realized later as I walked back to the parlor, relieved me. When I returned from my failed negotiation my friend was going to the back with another girl. Time had gone by and it was obvious that he had made an agreement as he was gone for 1/2 hour. When he returned we both left the whorehouse and returned home. He told me he paid $150 for the hand job and a bj with a condom on. He laughed at my story of the scowling Asian.
That was when I was 22. I am now 31 and found myself home on Craiglist looking at their "erotic" section. Here is a list of local girls with pictures, prices, and cell phone numbers for outcall (your place) or incall (their place) services. I decided to give it a try and got a girl to come over. It was all pretty awkward and I found myself actually faking orgasm so she would leave. I felt pretty scummy and showered three times before I went to bed that night. I have come to the conclusion that hookers are not for me.
You walk into the place and the madam calls all the available girls to stand in a line in front of you for you to choose from. Most commonly the John delays his choice until later preferring to sit at the bar and have a $10 beer while he decides (at least this is what my friend and I did). Negotiations are not allowed to be made in the open area of the bar lounge area, when a girl approaches you she asks to take you to her room to discuss rates. In the 20 or so minutes it took for me to drink my beer I noticed quite a few Johns going back to negotiate only to return quite soon afterwards, obviously not having come to settle on a price. I was approached by a older Asian lady, she was attractive and I liked the idea of being with an Asian so we went to negotiate. A co-worker of mine who frequents these establishments had told me he pays $150 for a 1/2 & 1/2 (half blow job, half sex) so I had a mental parameter of where I needed to be. When I proposed my offer the prostitute scoffed and said she would only perform a hand job for a $150, which I realized later as I walked back to the parlor, relieved me. When I returned from my failed negotiation my friend was going to the back with another girl. Time had gone by and it was obvious that he had made an agreement as he was gone for 1/2 hour. When he returned we both left the whorehouse and returned home. He told me he paid $150 for the hand job and a bj with a condom on. He laughed at my story of the scowling Asian.
That was when I was 22. I am now 31 and found myself home on Craiglist looking at their "erotic" section. Here is a list of local girls with pictures, prices, and cell phone numbers for outcall (your place) or incall (their place) services. I decided to give it a try and got a girl to come over. It was all pretty awkward and I found myself actually faking orgasm so she would leave. I felt pretty scummy and showered three times before I went to bed that night. I have come to the conclusion that hookers are not for me.
Monday, January 7, 2008
I Was a Naif at Sex
I was 19-23 and in Europe/Asia on Uncle Sam's dime. I was also a naif at sex (one prior experience). I landed in Europe first, specifically Frankfurt, Germany, for a month before heading to my permanent duty station. Outside of the main train station in Frankfurt was the city's sex district, probably 2 or 3 city blocks square. I utilized it weekly, picking out a huge brothel that was only known as Crazy Sexy. You walked in via a parking garage into a huge, nearly barren room: to the right of the entrance was a bar, to the left was a series of arcade machine. Throughout the room were the main supporting concrete pillars for the building. The floor itself was concrete. The air was always thick with hash smoke, the walls lined mostly with young G.I.s. On the main floor were all the girls - Crazy Sexy advertised 300 women. I got it in my head that I would come once a week until I had been with all 300. Impossible and stupid, but that's what I tried.
The typical experience for me was enter, have a drink, catch a contact buzz and decide who appeared fetching to me that night. Once the woman agreed (had to be her choice; prostitution in Germany was legal and if the lady in question said no at any point you would meet the polizie) we went upstairs (3 stories) to her room. We undressed and the woman would wash me and inspect for and STIs - then the prophylactic went on - always.
I would guess it was never no longer than 15-20 minutes before you would start to hear the click click click of the German shepherds the bouncers walked up and down the hallways, your cue to finish up.
I went at least weekly, sometimes twice or three times a week, when I was not in the field. This held true for the 2 years I was in Europe.
Asia was the same only more relaxed. I think that's right. In Asia it was normal to go into a barber shop, on base, and receive an $8 haircut, with $2 more for a manicure, and an additional $5 for oral sex - all at the same time. There were at least 5 chairs filled at any time. Sex on the economy was similar to the Europe experience, except the 'foreplay' was different - there were more subtle patterns to the initial greetings and information exchange before the actual sex...
Individual experiences were always different, some slightly, some markedly, but the common denominator throughout was the absolute zero tolerance of violence toward any of the women - it was worth your life in some places. Conversely, I heard about places - especially while in Asia - that not only countenanced violence, but offered it a la carte.
The typical experience for me was enter, have a drink, catch a contact buzz and decide who appeared fetching to me that night. Once the woman agreed (had to be her choice; prostitution in Germany was legal and if the lady in question said no at any point you would meet the polizie) we went upstairs (3 stories) to her room. We undressed and the woman would wash me and inspect for and STIs - then the prophylactic went on - always.
I would guess it was never no longer than 15-20 minutes before you would start to hear the click click click of the German shepherds the bouncers walked up and down the hallways, your cue to finish up.
I went at least weekly, sometimes twice or three times a week, when I was not in the field. This held true for the 2 years I was in Europe.
Asia was the same only more relaxed. I think that's right. In Asia it was normal to go into a barber shop, on base, and receive an $8 haircut, with $2 more for a manicure, and an additional $5 for oral sex - all at the same time. There were at least 5 chairs filled at any time. Sex on the economy was similar to the Europe experience, except the 'foreplay' was different - there were more subtle patterns to the initial greetings and information exchange before the actual sex...
Individual experiences were always different, some slightly, some markedly, but the common denominator throughout was the absolute zero tolerance of violence toward any of the women - it was worth your life in some places. Conversely, I heard about places - especially while in Asia - that not only countenanced violence, but offered it a la carte.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I Am a Normal and Charming Guy
I am in a very strange point of my life. I love women. I feel the best when I believe that I am giving women some kind of joy....... physical or emotional. I believe that women that I met and know, want men that are taller, smarter, richer, better looking..........basically anybody except me. I fear rejection. I try to be calm and cool...... but my body language always gives me away & creeps women out some how. I start conversations easily, but I find myself saying too much or confusing women by saying things that they cannot understand or are too deep, for the amount of Vodka-Red Bulls that they have consumed. I get into relationships with intelligent women that sex drives are less than my own and lack real passion. I think I understand women, but have a very hard time communicating with them because of my own internal hangups or awkwardness.
I see escorts because it is a real fantasy come to life, and for a couple of hours, I feel passion, affection and tenderness. All with the intensity that I never find in my real life. These little moments keep me going for the rest of the year and give me something to smile about when I am back home at a bar or nightclub, talking to a woman who thinks she is way too good for me, but gives me her phone number anyway, asks me to call her, and strings me along for a few weeks of random dating. I wonder why I want to be normal and married. I wonder why I should listen to my friends when they tell me that so & so is way out of my league or that I shouldn't be too picky, I'm no catch? I think everyone should be selective and only spend time with people they like being around.
Montreal GFE Escorts are wonderful people that are damaged on the inside........... and I am even more damaged. I like that I can tell her anything truthfully and she has heard or done much worse. To her, my screams are whispers. To her I am a normal and charming guy. If you have not guessed, I am not married nor do I believe in cheating on a LTR GF, but I have no problems calling a escort when I am not in a relationship...........
Yes, we are all pretty much this simple.
I see escorts because it is a real fantasy come to life, and for a couple of hours, I feel passion, affection and tenderness. All with the intensity that I never find in my real life. These little moments keep me going for the rest of the year and give me something to smile about when I am back home at a bar or nightclub, talking to a woman who thinks she is way too good for me, but gives me her phone number anyway, asks me to call her, and strings me along for a few weeks of random dating. I wonder why I want to be normal and married. I wonder why I should listen to my friends when they tell me that so & so is way out of my league or that I shouldn't be too picky, I'm no catch? I think everyone should be selective and only spend time with people they like being around.
Montreal GFE Escorts are wonderful people that are damaged on the inside........... and I am even more damaged. I like that I can tell her anything truthfully and she has heard or done much worse. To her, my screams are whispers. To her I am a normal and charming guy. If you have not guessed, I am not married nor do I believe in cheating on a LTR GF, but I have no problems calling a escort when I am not in a relationship...........
Yes, we are all pretty much this simple.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
The Night I Drove a Call Girl to Her Next Stop
I am writing because I can’t tell this story to anyone I know and retain my dignity, but since your soliciting I figured I can get it off my chest.
I’m twenty-something. I’m attractive and ambitious. I am successful with a good paying job, a nice car. I date a wonderful woman that keeps me interested and turned on despite the fact that we have been involved for quite a long time.
With that being said I find the idea of paying for sexual acts to be erotic. I can’t put my finger on what about it turns me on, but there is something that does it for me. It’s extremely rare for me to act on my urges though, really because I can think of better way to spend my money. Getting laid has never been a problem for me, which may be a contributing factor to my lack of ambition.
The first time was in Canada, Niagara Falls to be exact. I was 19 and it was amazing, although consisted of nothing more than a massage with a happy ending. It seems that this is all I really look for in a visit. The thought of actually sticking my dick into a prostitute does nothing for me. Furthermore, kissing, going down on or all in all a whole lot of contact in general with a working girl is a turn off. My problem is I think of some disgusting toothless smelly trucker doing the same thing prior to my arrival and I’m disgusted.
This night in particular I was driving home from a job out of town. I was exhausted, I had not been laid in a number of days due to opposing schedules and her little monthly visit, and while driving on the interstate I had started cruising the craigslist erotic services section.
After getting close to town I made the call, spoke with a girl that looked attractive and offered reasonably priced services, and headed to the gas station near her hotel.
Getting back in touch with her was a pain in the ass, but she finally directed me to a room in a small seedy motel and I headed over. As soon as I got out of my car I smelled something vile, which set the tone for the night.
As normal my stomach was in knots as I walked up to the door. When it opened I had to look twice. This blonde haired troll is not what was in the pictures. If it was, she had an amazing photographer or was very handy with photoshop.
Push came to shove and before I knew it I was naked on the bed. She was doing her thing and I was standing at attention, but it all went downhill. The final straw was when she started beating my balls hard enough to make them hurt on the down stroke.
Finally I threw in the towel and told her I was done. It was frustrating and embarrassing to say the least. While I was getting my shit together she mentioned needing a ride to another town about an hour away. She was not fishing for a ride by any means, simply telling the story of how she ended up in this room on this night. I figured she already had my money, I minus well get an adventure out of the night even if it was a bit less sexual in nature than originally intended.
I spent an hour talking to a girl my age that followed a completely different path. She was broke, she had a daughter to a guy that took care of her most of the time, she had no license, no car, no real job to speak of, no manners, and no class. To top it off she talked with this ghetto accent that screamed white trash with an identity crisis.
Despite all of this, she had just traveled across the country by greyhound bus for the hell of it, fucking for her bus tickets and hotel rooms. She had ‘run’ 6 girls at one time scheduling all of them and reaping the benefits. She gave me a new outlook on a whole bunch of things and even offered me a job being a body guard/driver for a couple of girls.
By the time we got to another seedy motel I had learned a lot about her, and something about myself.
She gave me a card and told me to call her some time. For the first time of the evening she shot me a look out of the corner of her eye and she actually looked cute.
I never did call her, and I can’t remember her name. One thing I will never forget is the night I drove a call girl to her next stop.
This is mediocre writing but it’s been a long day and my vocabulary went out the window about an hour ago. If you want to publish this, feel free but please don’t attach my email address.
Keep up the great work and Happy New Year.
I’m twenty-something. I’m attractive and ambitious. I am successful with a good paying job, a nice car. I date a wonderful woman that keeps me interested and turned on despite the fact that we have been involved for quite a long time.
With that being said I find the idea of paying for sexual acts to be erotic. I can’t put my finger on what about it turns me on, but there is something that does it for me. It’s extremely rare for me to act on my urges though, really because I can think of better way to spend my money. Getting laid has never been a problem for me, which may be a contributing factor to my lack of ambition.
The first time was in Canada, Niagara Falls to be exact. I was 19 and it was amazing, although consisted of nothing more than a massage with a happy ending. It seems that this is all I really look for in a visit. The thought of actually sticking my dick into a prostitute does nothing for me. Furthermore, kissing, going down on or all in all a whole lot of contact in general with a working girl is a turn off. My problem is I think of some disgusting toothless smelly trucker doing the same thing prior to my arrival and I’m disgusted.
This night in particular I was driving home from a job out of town. I was exhausted, I had not been laid in a number of days due to opposing schedules and her little monthly visit, and while driving on the interstate I had started cruising the craigslist erotic services section.
After getting close to town I made the call, spoke with a girl that looked attractive and offered reasonably priced services, and headed to the gas station near her hotel.
Getting back in touch with her was a pain in the ass, but she finally directed me to a room in a small seedy motel and I headed over. As soon as I got out of my car I smelled something vile, which set the tone for the night.
As normal my stomach was in knots as I walked up to the door. When it opened I had to look twice. This blonde haired troll is not what was in the pictures. If it was, she had an amazing photographer or was very handy with photoshop.
Push came to shove and before I knew it I was naked on the bed. She was doing her thing and I was standing at attention, but it all went downhill. The final straw was when she started beating my balls hard enough to make them hurt on the down stroke.
Finally I threw in the towel and told her I was done. It was frustrating and embarrassing to say the least. While I was getting my shit together she mentioned needing a ride to another town about an hour away. She was not fishing for a ride by any means, simply telling the story of how she ended up in this room on this night. I figured she already had my money, I minus well get an adventure out of the night even if it was a bit less sexual in nature than originally intended.
I spent an hour talking to a girl my age that followed a completely different path. She was broke, she had a daughter to a guy that took care of her most of the time, she had no license, no car, no real job to speak of, no manners, and no class. To top it off she talked with this ghetto accent that screamed white trash with an identity crisis.
Despite all of this, she had just traveled across the country by greyhound bus for the hell of it, fucking for her bus tickets and hotel rooms. She had ‘run’ 6 girls at one time scheduling all of them and reaping the benefits. She gave me a new outlook on a whole bunch of things and even offered me a job being a body guard/driver for a couple of girls.
By the time we got to another seedy motel I had learned a lot about her, and something about myself.
She gave me a card and told me to call her some time. For the first time of the evening she shot me a look out of the corner of her eye and she actually looked cute.
I never did call her, and I can’t remember her name. One thing I will never forget is the night I drove a call girl to her next stop.
This is mediocre writing but it’s been a long day and my vocabulary went out the window about an hour ago. If you want to publish this, feel free but please don’t attach my email address.
Keep up the great work and Happy New Year.
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