The first time I paid for sex I was twenty-four years old at a business convention in New Orleans. After finding out that my wife had slept with one of her co-workers while I was away, I had gone on a bender through the French Quarter. The last place I ended up at was a real dive, and I bought a "champagne room dance" from a woman working the bar. The champagne room was the antithesis of glamor; it was just an empty room with a couple of chairs, a red light bulb, and a blue plastic tarp that covered the doorway. When she seated me in the chair she noticed my wedding ring and asked if I'd ever cheated on my wife before. I hadn't realized until then what I had purchased, but I decided to go ahead with it.
I can remember it vividly; what she was wearing, the songs on the jukebox, and mostly talking to her afterward. She had a story about losing her husband in a car wreck and ending up in New Orleans. Even though the bartender had delivered the two splits of champagne, neither of us touched it; she was drinking peach schnapps from a bottle out of her purse. I didn't really feel anything about the experience, and to this day I still don't know what to make of it.
There was a five year interlude before I paid for sex again. By then, it was a lot easier to find "erotic services" online, and I saw perhaps a dozen providers over a few year period. Some I saw repeatedly; one I ended up dating for a few months. She was still working while we were together and it didn't bother me.
It's been over a year now and I don't really miss it. The sex itself ranged from at best okay to downright mediocre, and the experience didn't give me what I really wanted. It never really cut through the lonely feeling in my life, and I stopped trying to fill that with sex, paid or otherwise.
Showing posts with label JOHN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JOHN. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
I Was A Thirty Four Year Old Virgin
I was a thirty four year old virgin when I first visited a prostitute.
I've always been shy and a bit of a computer geek, and somehow I missed out on opportunities at college and university that might have got my sex life off to a start. Once I graduated I ended up in an IT job, full of other single male geeks. None of us had much in the way of a social life, but I was furthering my career so it didn't seem to matter much. It was only when I hit thirty that I started to worry about the other things missing from my life. At that point, my age and lack of experience were a major worry. I was tempted by online dating, but knew that anyone I might meet would be more sexually experienced than me, and this became a major stumbling block.
At one point, I seriously considered sexual surrogate therapy, but in the end the price put me off. It did, however, make me start thinking about paying for sex, but at a different level. Websites and forums are what I do, and mostly how I interact with other people, so it didn't take me long to find forums devoted to escort work. I researched diligently, read up on the pros and cons, and the dangers, health and otherwise, of seeing escorts. The forums were an eye opener. The escorts posting sounded genuine, even relatively normal, and not the junkies I'd expected. I made up my mind to go for it.
It was still nearly a year before my first experience. I finally selected a woman in a town miles from home, about ten years older than me. I chose a more mature woman, as I felt it would be easier, somehow, to confess my inexperience to her than it would be to a younger girl. The experience itself was mixed. My performance was as you might expect from a first timer, but she was sympathetic and understanding. She didn't clock watch, and I enjoyed her company as much as the sexual activity. I left with a feeling of relief that I'd got it over with, that I was no longer a virgin.
After that, I found other girls local to me. I've had some fantastic experiences and none of the girls have fitted the media mould, here in the UK at least, of trafficked Eastern Europeans or drug addicts. There was the single mum of 19, who was saving to put herself through a college course to get a professional qualification (and she did, successfully, and gave up the escorting to take a less well paid job in her chosen field). There was the recent graduate, making some extra cash while deciding what career path to take. There was the swinger, who had decided that if she was going to do it anyway, she might as well get paid for it. There have been several students, who will leave college without the debt that weighs down their peers.
Overall, more of the experiences have been good than bad. I accept that I'm working at the middle to upper end of the market, but most of the girls I've seen have been intelligent and good company and I put that down to the amount of effort I put in to selection. I'm generally very careful in who I choose, and the less successful experiences have always come when I let myself make a rushed decision.
My plan was for it to be a short term fix, a start towards a normal life and a way of catching up with experiences I should have had ten years ago. It's worked so well, that it's becoming a lifestyle choice. I think I prefer it this way.
I've always been shy and a bit of a computer geek, and somehow I missed out on opportunities at college and university that might have got my sex life off to a start. Once I graduated I ended up in an IT job, full of other single male geeks. None of us had much in the way of a social life, but I was furthering my career so it didn't seem to matter much. It was only when I hit thirty that I started to worry about the other things missing from my life. At that point, my age and lack of experience were a major worry. I was tempted by online dating, but knew that anyone I might meet would be more sexually experienced than me, and this became a major stumbling block.
At one point, I seriously considered sexual surrogate therapy, but in the end the price put me off. It did, however, make me start thinking about paying for sex, but at a different level. Websites and forums are what I do, and mostly how I interact with other people, so it didn't take me long to find forums devoted to escort work. I researched diligently, read up on the pros and cons, and the dangers, health and otherwise, of seeing escorts. The forums were an eye opener. The escorts posting sounded genuine, even relatively normal, and not the junkies I'd expected. I made up my mind to go for it.
It was still nearly a year before my first experience. I finally selected a woman in a town miles from home, about ten years older than me. I chose a more mature woman, as I felt it would be easier, somehow, to confess my inexperience to her than it would be to a younger girl. The experience itself was mixed. My performance was as you might expect from a first timer, but she was sympathetic and understanding. She didn't clock watch, and I enjoyed her company as much as the sexual activity. I left with a feeling of relief that I'd got it over with, that I was no longer a virgin.
After that, I found other girls local to me. I've had some fantastic experiences and none of the girls have fitted the media mould, here in the UK at least, of trafficked Eastern Europeans or drug addicts. There was the single mum of 19, who was saving to put herself through a college course to get a professional qualification (and she did, successfully, and gave up the escorting to take a less well paid job in her chosen field). There was the recent graduate, making some extra cash while deciding what career path to take. There was the swinger, who had decided that if she was going to do it anyway, she might as well get paid for it. There have been several students, who will leave college without the debt that weighs down their peers.
Overall, more of the experiences have been good than bad. I accept that I'm working at the middle to upper end of the market, but most of the girls I've seen have been intelligent and good company and I put that down to the amount of effort I put in to selection. I'm generally very careful in who I choose, and the less successful experiences have always come when I let myself make a rushed decision.
My plan was for it to be a short term fix, a start towards a normal life and a way of catching up with experiences I should have had ten years ago. It's worked so well, that it's becoming a lifestyle choice. I think I prefer it this way.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
I Demeaned Myself
I don’t know why, but I still had the expectation that the actual act could equate to what I fantasized about.
The girl was older, more experienced, yet still human about it, but it was clearly just another job for her. What rankled about the experience other than the disappointing sex (for reasons stated below) was the “pussyfooting” (no pun intended) around that occurred prior to the act, the pretence of actual interest. Yet that could be a sign of my masculine orientation, direct and to the point. It may also have something to do with the country I’m in presently.
I mean the actual act itself is merely a form of exercise…yet as much as I reduced it down to its physical limits, I still denied that I had the expectation of sexual chemistry. Going into it with this expectation, conscious or not, rendered the whole act unsatisfying. It was really quite mechanical, we entered the room, got naked and got to business, but the actual act it self just lacked a certain polarity. I mean the energy with which we went about it was almost the same as washing the car.
I’m no Casanova and I’m sure it comes across in how I write but I must admit that sex as an act can not just be reduced to its physical components, there has to be an element of sexual attraction but, then I can only speak for myself, to do otherwise would be arrogant and patronizing.
It may just be that my issue is that I lack a horribly traumatic past or experience that renders my sexual expectations quite low, such that I can merely desire it as a form of exercise, much like another man may favour swimming over running.
I understand with sudden clarity why many women and some men are against the practice, much like I understand people’s objections towards drug use. In particular, the charge that prostitution demeans women but I must admit, that I felt like I demeaned myself, bartering with this woman like I would over a cloth shirt. In essence, if I demean another person what does that act imply about my own character?
And I don’t mean, “what do people think about what I did?”, I’m referring to my own self-image, I feel like I lowered my standards for myself, not by paying for the services of a prostitute but by haggling over the price of the service. As it stands, I don’t regret utilizing the service of a prostitute, as I’ve learnt more than a single lesson, through just one act but I can honestly admit that I sincerely doubt I’d procure such services again.
The girl was older, more experienced, yet still human about it, but it was clearly just another job for her. What rankled about the experience other than the disappointing sex (for reasons stated below) was the “pussyfooting” (no pun intended) around that occurred prior to the act, the pretence of actual interest. Yet that could be a sign of my masculine orientation, direct and to the point. It may also have something to do with the country I’m in presently.
I mean the actual act itself is merely a form of exercise…yet as much as I reduced it down to its physical limits, I still denied that I had the expectation of sexual chemistry. Going into it with this expectation, conscious or not, rendered the whole act unsatisfying. It was really quite mechanical, we entered the room, got naked and got to business, but the actual act it self just lacked a certain polarity. I mean the energy with which we went about it was almost the same as washing the car.
I’m no Casanova and I’m sure it comes across in how I write but I must admit that sex as an act can not just be reduced to its physical components, there has to be an element of sexual attraction but, then I can only speak for myself, to do otherwise would be arrogant and patronizing.
It may just be that my issue is that I lack a horribly traumatic past or experience that renders my sexual expectations quite low, such that I can merely desire it as a form of exercise, much like another man may favour swimming over running.
I understand with sudden clarity why many women and some men are against the practice, much like I understand people’s objections towards drug use. In particular, the charge that prostitution demeans women but I must admit, that I felt like I demeaned myself, bartering with this woman like I would over a cloth shirt. In essence, if I demean another person what does that act imply about my own character?
And I don’t mean, “what do people think about what I did?”, I’m referring to my own self-image, I feel like I lowered my standards for myself, not by paying for the services of a prostitute but by haggling over the price of the service. As it stands, I don’t regret utilizing the service of a prostitute, as I’ve learnt more than a single lesson, through just one act but I can honestly admit that I sincerely doubt I’d procure such services again.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I Have A Sexual Fantasy That I Don't Talk About With Anyone
I have a sexual fantasy that I don't talk about with anyone. It's far from my only fantasy, but this one is very specific and possibly quite brutal, depending on whom you ask. I've never acted it out -- a bit too dangerous, really -- though I've seen it acted out on video many times. I've only told this fantasy to one woman, a girl I dated in college. She was a little freaked out at the time, but she seemed to get over it -- until several years later, when we reconnected online and she ended up sending an email all her friends and family, describing my fantasy and portraying me as a potential serial killer.
I've never forgiven her for that. I've also never told anyone else about this fantasy because of what she did...
Other than that, I'm an ordinary cubicle worker who's not so lucky with women. I met a woman last year who would become my first sex partner in about seven years. (I had gotten to 2nd base with many women in that span, including two long-term girlfriends, but that was it.) We only dated for six months, but we had fantastic sex during that period. However, she dumped me last spring and quickly hooked up with someone else, which left me feeling like a fool.
After that, some of my friends convinced me to come out to Las Vegas and party with them -- to help me forget about her, they said. So I set aside some money and went out there to meet them. I thought I might sample a working girl while I was out there, mostly to satisfy a curiosity. I considered hiring a prostitute back home just to get reacquainted with sex again, but I was hesitant to spend that much cash. Most of the escorts I found online were not cheap.
Then I won big at the tables my second day in town. In my mind, the money barrier was gone. So I trolled the hotel casino late one night to see what I could see. Sure enough, I spotted a very attractive young woman sitting with a drink at a slot machine -- not drinking and not playing, but just waiting for a guy like me to come by. We sussed each other out very quickly and went back to my room. Once there, we agreed on a price and began.
She was very professional and made me feel comfortable with the experience... until we were about a minute into it. Then she looked me in the eye and asked, "What's your kink, baby?"
I froze. I was that guarded about my fantasy that I couldn't bring myself to describe it to her. This was a working girl in Vegas who had probably heard far worse fantasies than mine, and chances are we would never cross paths again. Still, I was too scared to tell her my kink for fear that she might freak out, just like that girl from my college days did.
I tried to change the subject and change positions, but I started having trouble keeping my erection full -- something that almost always happens to me the first time I have sex with a new partner, but my fear might have had something to do with it, too. Unfortunately, when I needed a break, she used that as a prime opportunity to hit me up for more cash. It was then that I realized something: this was just a job to her. She wanted to get me off and get out. That left me a little cold. I did give her the extra money -- I had it available, and really, I wanted to finish up as much as she did at that point. She did eventually bring me to orgasm, and she stayed to talk with me for a few minutes afterward, apologizing for making me feel uncomfortable.
I have no regrets about the experience. In fact, I'm glad I did it, because it made me realize that a working girl can't give me the type of sexual experience I really want. My encounter with this particular woman lacked the kind of intimacy I had with previous girlfriends. (At one point, she seemed to recoil when I kissed her chest.) I'd prefer a sex partner who wants to be there and wants to come with me, too, rather than someone who just sees it as her job to get me off and get it over with. Perhaps other working girls aren't this bad, but because of that, I probably wouldn't do something like this again.
The experience also made me realize that I have some major trust issues to sort out. Maybe one day I'll feel more comfortable talking about this fantasy of mine with a girlfriend. I suspect, though, that this day is still a long way off.
I've never forgiven her for that. I've also never told anyone else about this fantasy because of what she did...
Other than that, I'm an ordinary cubicle worker who's not so lucky with women. I met a woman last year who would become my first sex partner in about seven years. (I had gotten to 2nd base with many women in that span, including two long-term girlfriends, but that was it.) We only dated for six months, but we had fantastic sex during that period. However, she dumped me last spring and quickly hooked up with someone else, which left me feeling like a fool.
After that, some of my friends convinced me to come out to Las Vegas and party with them -- to help me forget about her, they said. So I set aside some money and went out there to meet them. I thought I might sample a working girl while I was out there, mostly to satisfy a curiosity. I considered hiring a prostitute back home just to get reacquainted with sex again, but I was hesitant to spend that much cash. Most of the escorts I found online were not cheap.
Then I won big at the tables my second day in town. In my mind, the money barrier was gone. So I trolled the hotel casino late one night to see what I could see. Sure enough, I spotted a very attractive young woman sitting with a drink at a slot machine -- not drinking and not playing, but just waiting for a guy like me to come by. We sussed each other out very quickly and went back to my room. Once there, we agreed on a price and began.
She was very professional and made me feel comfortable with the experience... until we were about a minute into it. Then she looked me in the eye and asked, "What's your kink, baby?"
I froze. I was that guarded about my fantasy that I couldn't bring myself to describe it to her. This was a working girl in Vegas who had probably heard far worse fantasies than mine, and chances are we would never cross paths again. Still, I was too scared to tell her my kink for fear that she might freak out, just like that girl from my college days did.
I tried to change the subject and change positions, but I started having trouble keeping my erection full -- something that almost always happens to me the first time I have sex with a new partner, but my fear might have had something to do with it, too. Unfortunately, when I needed a break, she used that as a prime opportunity to hit me up for more cash. It was then that I realized something: this was just a job to her. She wanted to get me off and get out. That left me a little cold. I did give her the extra money -- I had it available, and really, I wanted to finish up as much as she did at that point. She did eventually bring me to orgasm, and she stayed to talk with me for a few minutes afterward, apologizing for making me feel uncomfortable.
I have no regrets about the experience. In fact, I'm glad I did it, because it made me realize that a working girl can't give me the type of sexual experience I really want. My encounter with this particular woman lacked the kind of intimacy I had with previous girlfriends. (At one point, she seemed to recoil when I kissed her chest.) I'd prefer a sex partner who wants to be there and wants to come with me, too, rather than someone who just sees it as her job to get me off and get it over with. Perhaps other working girls aren't this bad, but because of that, I probably wouldn't do something like this again.
The experience also made me realize that I have some major trust issues to sort out. Maybe one day I'll feel more comfortable talking about this fantasy of mine with a girlfriend. I suspect, though, that this day is still a long way off.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I Found A Trailer On The Outskirts Of Town
Both my marriages were mistakes in a way, especially the first one. Right out of college, I really had no clue what I needed or wanted, or what I had a right to expect from marriage. Every time she criticized me, the only response I knew was to resolve to cut that part of my personality out of the relationship. It didn't take long for me to become a resentful shell in the marriage, just playing the role she seemed to expect me to play. For her part, she only seemed to want sex when she was drunk, and she was never willing to confide in me what turned her on sexually, saying, "If I have to tell you, it spoils it."
So it's no surprise that I was deeply sexually frustrated and didn't know how to correct that within the marriage. I missed getting the judgmental gene that has most of polite society looking down their noses at sex workers, so somehow (I don't remember how; this was back in the mid 1970s) I found a trailer on the outskirts of town where I could buy some time with a woman.
She was lovely and had the softest skin I've ever touched. I had a lot of difficulty getting hard, though, and then a lot of difficulty climaxing. I asked for a change of position three or four times, and she got exasperated and said, "This is the last time." In spite of the buzz kill, though, her beauty and the fact that the money made up for my shortcomings allowed me to climax, and the pattern was set. This was the way I could count on to give me uncomplicated sexual release with a partner for the rest of my life.
I can't afford it very often now, because I've figured out that the ones who charge $250 an hour are the ones who offer the closest thing to a real girlfriend experience, and that makes it all so much better that it's worth having to wait a lot longer between appointments. I get to pretend she really likes me and that she enjoys what I do for her enough to want to see me again for that, not just the money. Between appointments I sometimes recall my favorite sessions, and embellish them with even more of what I really want, especially the precise words she could say at just the right time to be the perfect turn-on.
I want to tell you about the most memorable of the girls. She called herself [redacted], and she worked at a massage parlor in [redacted] called [redacted]. I don't think I'm giving any useful information away; this was back in the 1970s. She was gorgeous and she did layouts for the men's magazines; I have a copy of [redacted] from that era with a pictorial of hers in it. I wish I had found videos she was in, but it was hard enough getting her to tell me which [redacted] issue I needed to look for. Anyway, she was over 6 feet tall, and since I'm 6'5", that was a big advantage. She had long blonde hair and a figure like Sophia Loren's, enhanced to about F-cup tits. But her surgery was new enough that there was no scar tissue, and they looked and felt natural.
Her body was literally my ideal fantasy. I didn't know enough about where my sexual hot buttons were to ask for precisely what would have turned me on the most, but I can do that now in my maturbatory reveries. On her own she managed to show me a couple of moves that made me cum instantly. I was able to connect with her three times over a period of a year or two before she vanished, and I've always wondered what happened to her. Conversation with her was very difficult; I think there were drugs involved, but I couldn't be certain. She may have just been reluctant to be at all personally revealing with me.
I've been lucky and, as far as I know, none of the women I have dated or married has found out about my extracurricular activity. I wish I could combine the two worlds somehow, or at least make real relationships more satisfying. But it's so much easier when the only thing the woman really expects from me is money.
So it's no surprise that I was deeply sexually frustrated and didn't know how to correct that within the marriage. I missed getting the judgmental gene that has most of polite society looking down their noses at sex workers, so somehow (I don't remember how; this was back in the mid 1970s) I found a trailer on the outskirts of town where I could buy some time with a woman.
She was lovely and had the softest skin I've ever touched. I had a lot of difficulty getting hard, though, and then a lot of difficulty climaxing. I asked for a change of position three or four times, and she got exasperated and said, "This is the last time." In spite of the buzz kill, though, her beauty and the fact that the money made up for my shortcomings allowed me to climax, and the pattern was set. This was the way I could count on to give me uncomplicated sexual release with a partner for the rest of my life.
I can't afford it very often now, because I've figured out that the ones who charge $250 an hour are the ones who offer the closest thing to a real girlfriend experience, and that makes it all so much better that it's worth having to wait a lot longer between appointments. I get to pretend she really likes me and that she enjoys what I do for her enough to want to see me again for that, not just the money. Between appointments I sometimes recall my favorite sessions, and embellish them with even more of what I really want, especially the precise words she could say at just the right time to be the perfect turn-on.
I want to tell you about the most memorable of the girls. She called herself [redacted], and she worked at a massage parlor in [redacted] called [redacted]. I don't think I'm giving any useful information away; this was back in the 1970s. She was gorgeous and she did layouts for the men's magazines; I have a copy of [redacted] from that era with a pictorial of hers in it. I wish I had found videos she was in, but it was hard enough getting her to tell me which [redacted] issue I needed to look for. Anyway, she was over 6 feet tall, and since I'm 6'5", that was a big advantage. She had long blonde hair and a figure like Sophia Loren's, enhanced to about F-cup tits. But her surgery was new enough that there was no scar tissue, and they looked and felt natural.
Her body was literally my ideal fantasy. I didn't know enough about where my sexual hot buttons were to ask for precisely what would have turned me on the most, but I can do that now in my maturbatory reveries. On her own she managed to show me a couple of moves that made me cum instantly. I was able to connect with her three times over a period of a year or two before she vanished, and I've always wondered what happened to her. Conversation with her was very difficult; I think there were drugs involved, but I couldn't be certain. She may have just been reluctant to be at all personally revealing with me.
I've been lucky and, as far as I know, none of the women I have dated or married has found out about my extracurricular activity. I wish I could combine the two worlds somehow, or at least make real relationships more satisfying. But it's so much easier when the only thing the woman really expects from me is money.
Monday, November 10, 2008
I'm Kind Of An Oddball Guy
I've paid for sex three times.
Once I was new to the West Coast and with no friends and I made eye contact with a pretty junkie walking down my street. We started talking and she asked me for money, so I proposed a trade. She was up for it so we walked to the atm and in the street she let me feel her breasts for a few minutes. It was a letdown, but I felt slightly thrilled. She was hot but sort of gross.
Several years later, I came home from a family visit late one night and was feeling energetic so I went to rent some pornos. As I was leaving the store I picked up a free magazine of ads for escorts, and when I got home I called one. She told me it would cost $300 on the phone and I agreed. When she got to my apartment she took the money down to her companion waiting in the car. Then she came back and wouldn't have sex with me! I was pissed. She was conning me. She finally did a strip tease while I masturbated, then left. I felt totally pissed and sad/ashamed hateful of myself and her. I basically resolved never to deal with prostitutes again because that was so shitty. It also made me somewhat misogynistic in a way.
A few years later I was driving on a rural highway and saw a sexy hitchhiker. I had this weird feeling so I turned around and picked her up. We drove for a while and talked, she was cool. When we got to my turnoff she said she needed to go another twenty miles and she would give me money if I would drive her the rest of the way. Instead I suggested that she give me a hand job instead and I would drive her. She said ok but only a handjob which was fine with me. That was a fairly pleasant experience overall even though it seemed kind of scandalous to me at the time.
The first and third weren't really formal prostitutes, but it was prostitution right, so I include them.
As for why, I'm kind of a oddball guy, I don't go to bars, and I am introverted, somewhat shy. My family of origin was dysfunctional and abusive, and touching and intimacy were never something I saw nice examples of until basically my twenties. I have had a number of serious girlfriends, but I tend to go a few years between them with practically zero hookups in between. Like most guys, I get very horny, and want someone to hold and touch. I don't feel like it's a desperate desire to avoid loneliness. It mostly feels like out of boredom and desire for physical stimulation and release.
I don't feel any regret or guilt consciously about these acts, though I wouldn't want people to know either.
It is sort of sad, but I do think paying/trading for sex has been around forever and serves a function.
I think it would be better if it was legal and not as marginalized where abuse and violence enter into it.
I don't think humans have figured out a functional form of sexual relationships. Traditional gender roles seem useless and non-productive, and these are generally mirrored in sexual roles and representation. Of course, that is true in prostitution as well, but to me it seems fairly rational and straightforward, which is more respectful of the participants than the unconscious charade psychodrama that usually constitutes regular romantic sex.
Once I was new to the West Coast and with no friends and I made eye contact with a pretty junkie walking down my street. We started talking and she asked me for money, so I proposed a trade. She was up for it so we walked to the atm and in the street she let me feel her breasts for a few minutes. It was a letdown, but I felt slightly thrilled. She was hot but sort of gross.
Several years later, I came home from a family visit late one night and was feeling energetic so I went to rent some pornos. As I was leaving the store I picked up a free magazine of ads for escorts, and when I got home I called one. She told me it would cost $300 on the phone and I agreed. When she got to my apartment she took the money down to her companion waiting in the car. Then she came back and wouldn't have sex with me! I was pissed. She was conning me. She finally did a strip tease while I masturbated, then left. I felt totally pissed and sad/ashamed hateful of myself and her. I basically resolved never to deal with prostitutes again because that was so shitty. It also made me somewhat misogynistic in a way.
A few years later I was driving on a rural highway and saw a sexy hitchhiker. I had this weird feeling so I turned around and picked her up. We drove for a while and talked, she was cool. When we got to my turnoff she said she needed to go another twenty miles and she would give me money if I would drive her the rest of the way. Instead I suggested that she give me a hand job instead and I would drive her. She said ok but only a handjob which was fine with me. That was a fairly pleasant experience overall even though it seemed kind of scandalous to me at the time.
The first and third weren't really formal prostitutes, but it was prostitution right, so I include them.
As for why, I'm kind of a oddball guy, I don't go to bars, and I am introverted, somewhat shy. My family of origin was dysfunctional and abusive, and touching and intimacy were never something I saw nice examples of until basically my twenties. I have had a number of serious girlfriends, but I tend to go a few years between them with practically zero hookups in between. Like most guys, I get very horny, and want someone to hold and touch. I don't feel like it's a desperate desire to avoid loneliness. It mostly feels like out of boredom and desire for physical stimulation and release.
I don't feel any regret or guilt consciously about these acts, though I wouldn't want people to know either.
It is sort of sad, but I do think paying/trading for sex has been around forever and serves a function.
I think it would be better if it was legal and not as marginalized where abuse and violence enter into it.
I don't think humans have figured out a functional form of sexual relationships. Traditional gender roles seem useless and non-productive, and these are generally mirrored in sexual roles and representation. Of course, that is true in prostitution as well, but to me it seems fairly rational and straightforward, which is more respectful of the participants than the unconscious charade psychodrama that usually constitutes regular romantic sex.
Friday, November 7, 2008
I Am A Gentleman
At about the age of 50, I made a fabulous discovery. I'd married young and had only been with my wife to that point. That marriage eventually dissolved, and so did another one, and now I'm on number three. Until recently, I had been sexually involved only with my wives. That isn't to say I was entirely happy about that. I went through a lot of years wondering what it would be like to make love with different women. Not fuck. Actually make love to. But as others have noted many times, affairs are tar pits.
Then I found out that at my age, with some disposable income, and with an in-built respect for womankind, I was a valuable commodity. Interesting women actually wanted to have sex with me. And good sex. Sex with someone who is skilled, experienced, and eager to please. After a lot of education thanks to boards and helpful sites, I went to my first session and never looked back. I'm choosy about who I see. She has to be known in the local community, well-regarded, and with good reviews. My involvement is a hobby, not an emotional imperative. The ladies I patronize are largely smart and compassionate, known to provide good service. With such ladies, there is no such thing as a bad time, although some are better than others. There is admittedly little emotional involvement, but that's fine. It's entertainment, not networking. It's my own little bit of performance art, a play entirely for my benefit. I am not a john, you see. I am a client. I am, in the parlance, a gentleman.
My wife does not know, and perhaps would not care overly much if she did. She has had health problems that limit her sexual involvement. In fact, she has benefited from my secret little life. I learn a great deal from providers, and I bring that home to practice when I can. Much of what providers can teach does not require gymnastics.
There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.
And the best part is that my hobby enables me to grow in confidence. It continues to teach me about human nature. It has introduced me to like-minded people who support one another in the shadow community we share. It is not dismal nor depressing. It is not a sad place at all. It is a place of exhilaration, negotiation, and keen fun. It is the purest form of commerce that I know, and the most instructive. I may give it up some day; I don't do it often now. But I know it has been good for me.
Then I found out that at my age, with some disposable income, and with an in-built respect for womankind, I was a valuable commodity. Interesting women actually wanted to have sex with me. And good sex. Sex with someone who is skilled, experienced, and eager to please. After a lot of education thanks to boards and helpful sites, I went to my first session and never looked back. I'm choosy about who I see. She has to be known in the local community, well-regarded, and with good reviews. My involvement is a hobby, not an emotional imperative. The ladies I patronize are largely smart and compassionate, known to provide good service. With such ladies, there is no such thing as a bad time, although some are better than others. There is admittedly little emotional involvement, but that's fine. It's entertainment, not networking. It's my own little bit of performance art, a play entirely for my benefit. I am not a john, you see. I am a client. I am, in the parlance, a gentleman.
My wife does not know, and perhaps would not care overly much if she did. She has had health problems that limit her sexual involvement. In fact, she has benefited from my secret little life. I learn a great deal from providers, and I bring that home to practice when I can. Much of what providers can teach does not require gymnastics.
There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.
And the best part is that my hobby enables me to grow in confidence. It continues to teach me about human nature. It has introduced me to like-minded people who support one another in the shadow community we share. It is not dismal nor depressing. It is not a sad place at all. It is a place of exhilaration, negotiation, and keen fun. It is the purest form of commerce that I know, and the most instructive. I may give it up some day; I don't do it often now. But I know it has been good for me.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I Am Deathly Afraid Of Intimacy
In the simplest terms, I got into girls because ... I lost *the* girl.
I lost her, and I cried every day.
I missed her, but what's more, deep down inside, I felt like I really had *lost* her.
I started seeing girls I guess to soften, to dampen the pain, to somehow recreate that intimacy. (Which, of course, as you well know, never happens.)
What's odd is, there was one time I met a girl, who, upon us talking (I talked to lots of these girls, heard their stories), told me she was doing this to prove to the world that she was a good lover. I knew from the way she talked about a broken-up relationship that she somehow felt she wasn't a good lover with her man, and this was her way of proving to the universe (i.e. herself), that she was good, adept.
I still ask myself what was I doing going to those girls. It was to deaden the pain of losing the one I cared for the most.
It was a loss that still shatters me inside. It still hurts.
I guess we reach for many vices, many addictions -- alcohol, drugs -- to kill the pain. To not let ourselves feel it.
I guess I'm tired of feeling it, the pain. But my head is inexorably screwed up, and I see there is a component to my body that is addicted to this stuff. All at the expense of intimacy.
I guess intimacy is what I miss most. I am deathly afraid of intimacy because I loved her so much and I lost her, that putting myself out there -- putting my heart out there again -- terrifies me.
It sounds silly to write it as words. It sounds superficial, somehow. Like it doesn't mean much. But the pain, it's hard to write about, hard to articulate as words.
It's more a feeling, a terror, a place my brain doesn't want to go.
But I have to admit, I miss her. I miss *that* -- that joy, that closeness we had. I miss it more than anything. I miss it more than the world.
I have to admit to myself that this is an addiction. The last time I cuddled with a woman, I can't remember when. I miss it. I miss having a family. I miss having love. I try to remember what that's like. For some reason I have problems thinking. There's a part of my brain that is unable to process this. This is definitely a cognitive problem, related to the addiction.
But I know I got into it as a way to escape the pain. I just wish the pain was not there anymore.
I hate my family. Because I once reached out to them for help and they turned me away. What are you supposed to do, when you need help, and ask for it, and are told no? That hurts as much as the addiction.
I guess I am stuck in blame, but the alternative, to take full responsibility for my life, means to be completely alone. And "alone" is what gets me reaching for it again. I've thought of a twelve-step group, a group to talk about these issues, perhaps this is what I need.
Moreover I just need friends.
I want my life back.
I lost her, and I cried every day.
I missed her, but what's more, deep down inside, I felt like I really had *lost* her.
I started seeing girls I guess to soften, to dampen the pain, to somehow recreate that intimacy. (Which, of course, as you well know, never happens.)
What's odd is, there was one time I met a girl, who, upon us talking (I talked to lots of these girls, heard their stories), told me she was doing this to prove to the world that she was a good lover. I knew from the way she talked about a broken-up relationship that she somehow felt she wasn't a good lover with her man, and this was her way of proving to the universe (i.e. herself), that she was good, adept.
I still ask myself what was I doing going to those girls. It was to deaden the pain of losing the one I cared for the most.
It was a loss that still shatters me inside. It still hurts.
I guess we reach for many vices, many addictions -- alcohol, drugs -- to kill the pain. To not let ourselves feel it.
I guess I'm tired of feeling it, the pain. But my head is inexorably screwed up, and I see there is a component to my body that is addicted to this stuff. All at the expense of intimacy.
I guess intimacy is what I miss most. I am deathly afraid of intimacy because I loved her so much and I lost her, that putting myself out there -- putting my heart out there again -- terrifies me.
It sounds silly to write it as words. It sounds superficial, somehow. Like it doesn't mean much. But the pain, it's hard to write about, hard to articulate as words.
It's more a feeling, a terror, a place my brain doesn't want to go.
But I have to admit, I miss her. I miss *that* -- that joy, that closeness we had. I miss it more than anything. I miss it more than the world.
I have to admit to myself that this is an addiction. The last time I cuddled with a woman, I can't remember when. I miss it. I miss having a family. I miss having love. I try to remember what that's like. For some reason I have problems thinking. There's a part of my brain that is unable to process this. This is definitely a cognitive problem, related to the addiction.
But I know I got into it as a way to escape the pain. I just wish the pain was not there anymore.
I hate my family. Because I once reached out to them for help and they turned me away. What are you supposed to do, when you need help, and ask for it, and are told no? That hurts as much as the addiction.
I guess I am stuck in blame, but the alternative, to take full responsibility for my life, means to be completely alone. And "alone" is what gets me reaching for it again. I've thought of a twelve-step group, a group to talk about these issues, perhaps this is what I need.
Moreover I just need friends.
I want my life back.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I Wanted To Kill Myself
I have the usual sob story: usual beatings from my dad, his psychological torture, absence of the most beneficial parenting, severe neglect, first generation immigrant experience, raped by my cousin at age 12, social ostracism, extremely repressive Christian environment and the list goes on. Consequently, I grew up being alone, which perpetuates that state, and recently I live with an anxiety disorder that is sometimes debilitating.
By age 29, I became extremely frustrated about my virginity, and decided to finally to visit an SP. I was in Amsterdam. At first, in the oversized Jacuzzi, she caressed my body with hers. This was the first time I touched a woman in a sexual manner. I felt like a human being, and almost cried. We moved on to the bed, but she laughed at me. She positioned her body so that it was difficult for me to have intercourse and eventually she told me to stop when I began to do it with feeling. Another SP had to take over to finish me, but fortunately she was comforting though lacked engagement. After it was over, she counseled me. (She and the other woman were Dutch, and as expected their English was perfect.) One of the advices she gave me was how it does not feel good without love. I wish I could find love, but I know that is not possible for me. That night I felt disgusted, angry and hated myself for seeing an SP. I wanted to kill myself. I went completely against my own moral convictions and support of feminism. The experience was not pleasurable at all, but rather very nerve racking and riddled with guilt throughout the whole act. It was something to simply do it and get it out of the way, so that I would be just like other non-virgin men.
I had two more days left in Amsterdam, so I decided to give it one more try and visited another agency. She was Belgian. She spoke with a French accent, so I had a difficult time comprehending her. Still, she was more comforting and psychologically put me at ease right away. She was affectionate, pretty and even erotic. She gave me a massage, which really put me at ease physically, and when we were doing it she appeared to be enjoying it as well. Of course, she was acting, but I appreciated her effort for a loser like me. I finally felt good, had that “afterglow,” mood of calm and strangely felt free. I ruminated if the moment of orgasm was the only possible authentic state of freedom. She explained something to me that lingered while taking a walk after visiting her, which was that visiting an independent SP or reputable agency was a good and healthy thing, as long as I do not over indulge, because sex is a necessary human experience.
Perhaps, I was becoming a corrupt scum, or I was becoming desensitized to seeing an SP. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss was temporary as all experiences of authenticity are temporary, and I visited SP’s occasionally since then to seek respite from the severe feeling of loneliness. Having discovered what it feels like to be with someone, even with simulated intimacy, I began to long for it more and more. Still, even though the guilt and self-hate is not to the degree that it was when I first started seeing SPs, it continues and sometimes erupts with weight.
I am now 40 years of age, and I have never been with any woman, other than SP’s, because I have always been rejected. However, I also have not tried to initiate even a conversation with most women because of my debilitating anxiety, so I seek the comfort of intimacy with independent SP's to deal with the misery. I realize now that, as a human being, we all need to be touched to at least survive and live on, but once my mom dies I have no reason to live. I have no close or trust worthy friends, and so the loneliness is intense. I am damaged-goods, so even if someone would want me I can’t allow my baggage to affect her life in a negative manner. Therefore, I am not allowed a conventional relationship.
By age 29, I became extremely frustrated about my virginity, and decided to finally to visit an SP. I was in Amsterdam. At first, in the oversized Jacuzzi, she caressed my body with hers. This was the first time I touched a woman in a sexual manner. I felt like a human being, and almost cried. We moved on to the bed, but she laughed at me. She positioned her body so that it was difficult for me to have intercourse and eventually she told me to stop when I began to do it with feeling. Another SP had to take over to finish me, but fortunately she was comforting though lacked engagement. After it was over, she counseled me. (She and the other woman were Dutch, and as expected their English was perfect.) One of the advices she gave me was how it does not feel good without love. I wish I could find love, but I know that is not possible for me. That night I felt disgusted, angry and hated myself for seeing an SP. I wanted to kill myself. I went completely against my own moral convictions and support of feminism. The experience was not pleasurable at all, but rather very nerve racking and riddled with guilt throughout the whole act. It was something to simply do it and get it out of the way, so that I would be just like other non-virgin men.
I had two more days left in Amsterdam, so I decided to give it one more try and visited another agency. She was Belgian. She spoke with a French accent, so I had a difficult time comprehending her. Still, she was more comforting and psychologically put me at ease right away. She was affectionate, pretty and even erotic. She gave me a massage, which really put me at ease physically, and when we were doing it she appeared to be enjoying it as well. Of course, she was acting, but I appreciated her effort for a loser like me. I finally felt good, had that “afterglow,” mood of calm and strangely felt free. I ruminated if the moment of orgasm was the only possible authentic state of freedom. She explained something to me that lingered while taking a walk after visiting her, which was that visiting an independent SP or reputable agency was a good and healthy thing, as long as I do not over indulge, because sex is a necessary human experience.
Perhaps, I was becoming a corrupt scum, or I was becoming desensitized to seeing an SP. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss was temporary as all experiences of authenticity are temporary, and I visited SP’s occasionally since then to seek respite from the severe feeling of loneliness. Having discovered what it feels like to be with someone, even with simulated intimacy, I began to long for it more and more. Still, even though the guilt and self-hate is not to the degree that it was when I first started seeing SPs, it continues and sometimes erupts with weight.
I am now 40 years of age, and I have never been with any woman, other than SP’s, because I have always been rejected. However, I also have not tried to initiate even a conversation with most women because of my debilitating anxiety, so I seek the comfort of intimacy with independent SP's to deal with the misery. I realize now that, as a human being, we all need to be touched to at least survive and live on, but once my mom dies I have no reason to live. I have no close or trust worthy friends, and so the loneliness is intense. I am damaged-goods, so even if someone would want me I can’t allow my baggage to affect her life in a negative manner. Therefore, I am not allowed a conventional relationship.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I Was Haunted
I grew up devoutly religious. My religion taught me that sex was sacred and not to be trifled with. Something about the forbidden fruits there that created an obsession. Since losing my faith, I discovered that many others in my faith and other similar authoritarian based faiths also were plagued by this same obsession. I was warned all the time about the evils of pornography and petting and fornication. Tsk. Gasoline to the fires of curiosity.
So I got married... young... I was 23. I brought my fascination of sex into the marriage only to discover that my mate was not well matched to my interests and we floated off into separate corners of the marital galaxies. I found myself dabbling in phone sex a couple of times only to be consumed by hollowness. That marriage ended and I soon remarried to a wonderful woman. We are very much in love. But again, the sex is so so. I was haunted. Was I to be one of those men who ventured through life not knowing what real sex was? The thought tortured me.
The first time I caved into actually soliciting a prostitute, I had already spent several peripheral moments observing the various local streetwalkers, fascinated by their craft and wondering if they really could provide excellent sex.
I drank some beer, became inebriated, and found the courage to call an agency. I could barely speak on the phone. She came over. She noted I was drunk and charged me what seemed to be a high price but I was desperate. I wanted to go down on her and her do the same to me. She apparently did not bring protection. That still baffles me to this day as my subsequent encounters showed that to be a total anomaly. My first experience was unprotected sex with a whore. What a moron I was.
I spent the next month absolutely racked with a fear that I had picked up aids. I went to a local health care provider to get tested. They asked me questions and stupid me answered that yes, I had sex with a whore. Whatever. The nurse just stared at me like I had three heads. I felt so stupid.
The whole experience was a let down and curbed my appetite for a couple of years.
Then the call of the wild came haunting back as those years were filled with the same old so so sex with my wife. I wanted more. She will not consent to anal sex or role playing or anything kinky as she is devoutly religious. The same nagging of "Is this all there will be for me?" came sauntering back into my life. So I visited a whorehouse and was so nervous that I could barely get it up. She massaged me and spoke softly in her broken asian accent. Things finally clicked and I had so so sex with a bonafide whore in a bonafide place of "ill repute". It was thrilling. I was hooked.
I found another asian cutie who was willing to finger my anus. She had long fingernails so I told her to stop. Then I mounted her for what seemed to be 30 minutes and had a powerful climax. She washed me off and I hustled out the door. It was good but not excellent. I returned a month later to find another asian cutie, much older than myself but with a very large cup size. Could this be it? I got nervous. She was very gentle and soft and caring and spread her legs so wide I did not know legs could do that... and her large breasts sent me over the edge in less than a minute. She comforted me and acknowledged that I was just too nervous. Dang. Another let down... but I was still hooked.
But why? The sex wasn't all that great. Probably because I was so nervous every time. I visited again to several houses about 15 different times. Walking up to them found my heart pounding out of my chest. It was thrilling. Each time I wondered if finally I would have the great sex I craved. However, none of my visits have provided me with anything existentially mind bending. Every time I walked out I felt badly. Gotta love that old religious programming, dammit! I even tried sex with a shemale... which turned out to be anticlimatic because I could not get it up. I wanted to suck her dry but could not bring myself to do it. I tried to penetrate her but failed. She tried to penetrate me but could not get hard enough. We parted wondering what was wrong with me. The thought of having sex with a girl who also had an extra bonus for me was so titillating and I was amazed by how beautiful and feminine a pre-op transsexual was. The whole scene absolutely fascinates me. They are actually real people with real breast implants and real desires to have sex with men as a half way female. I was so sure I wanted it because some times I think I have low levels of homosexuality and this appeared to be the perfect transition attempt. I am pretty sure I will try sex with another shemale another time just to be sure it wasn't me. The thought of that excites me... but I am still very attracted to full females.
I believe part of my exploration into having sex with 15-20 prostitutes (I lost count) has to do with freeing myself from the tendrils of religion. Doing an act that I know is so taboo in my former religion empowers me to distance myself from it. That distance is something I need. I can't stand organized religion and it's surefire dogmatism of morality. Who are they to tell me what is moral? There was guilt, but also an accompanying sense of vanquishment and separation from any sort of God that might exist that I found comforting. It was like a moment of guilt followed by a sense of me sticking my middle finger up at the controlling religious roots that held me captive and took such advantage of my first 2 decades of life. I loved that feeling.
I have studied my guilt and found that it lies within the context of not being able to connect with my wife. I blame myself for that. I want great sex and I can't have it. The guilt does not come from any sense of "oh my... I am going to hell now" as I don't believe such a place exists. I just feel badly that there exists no tantalizing sexual connection with my wife.
So I got married... young... I was 23. I brought my fascination of sex into the marriage only to discover that my mate was not well matched to my interests and we floated off into separate corners of the marital galaxies. I found myself dabbling in phone sex a couple of times only to be consumed by hollowness. That marriage ended and I soon remarried to a wonderful woman. We are very much in love. But again, the sex is so so. I was haunted. Was I to be one of those men who ventured through life not knowing what real sex was? The thought tortured me.
The first time I caved into actually soliciting a prostitute, I had already spent several peripheral moments observing the various local streetwalkers, fascinated by their craft and wondering if they really could provide excellent sex.
I drank some beer, became inebriated, and found the courage to call an agency. I could barely speak on the phone. She came over. She noted I was drunk and charged me what seemed to be a high price but I was desperate. I wanted to go down on her and her do the same to me. She apparently did not bring protection. That still baffles me to this day as my subsequent encounters showed that to be a total anomaly. My first experience was unprotected sex with a whore. What a moron I was.
I spent the next month absolutely racked with a fear that I had picked up aids. I went to a local health care provider to get tested. They asked me questions and stupid me answered that yes, I had sex with a whore. Whatever. The nurse just stared at me like I had three heads. I felt so stupid.
The whole experience was a let down and curbed my appetite for a couple of years.
Then the call of the wild came haunting back as those years were filled with the same old so so sex with my wife. I wanted more. She will not consent to anal sex or role playing or anything kinky as she is devoutly religious. The same nagging of "Is this all there will be for me?" came sauntering back into my life. So I visited a whorehouse and was so nervous that I could barely get it up. She massaged me and spoke softly in her broken asian accent. Things finally clicked and I had so so sex with a bonafide whore in a bonafide place of "ill repute". It was thrilling. I was hooked.
I found another asian cutie who was willing to finger my anus. She had long fingernails so I told her to stop. Then I mounted her for what seemed to be 30 minutes and had a powerful climax. She washed me off and I hustled out the door. It was good but not excellent. I returned a month later to find another asian cutie, much older than myself but with a very large cup size. Could this be it? I got nervous. She was very gentle and soft and caring and spread her legs so wide I did not know legs could do that... and her large breasts sent me over the edge in less than a minute. She comforted me and acknowledged that I was just too nervous. Dang. Another let down... but I was still hooked.
But why? The sex wasn't all that great. Probably because I was so nervous every time. I visited again to several houses about 15 different times. Walking up to them found my heart pounding out of my chest. It was thrilling. Each time I wondered if finally I would have the great sex I craved. However, none of my visits have provided me with anything existentially mind bending. Every time I walked out I felt badly. Gotta love that old religious programming, dammit! I even tried sex with a shemale... which turned out to be anticlimatic because I could not get it up. I wanted to suck her dry but could not bring myself to do it. I tried to penetrate her but failed. She tried to penetrate me but could not get hard enough. We parted wondering what was wrong with me. The thought of having sex with a girl who also had an extra bonus for me was so titillating and I was amazed by how beautiful and feminine a pre-op transsexual was. The whole scene absolutely fascinates me. They are actually real people with real breast implants and real desires to have sex with men as a half way female. I was so sure I wanted it because some times I think I have low levels of homosexuality and this appeared to be the perfect transition attempt. I am pretty sure I will try sex with another shemale another time just to be sure it wasn't me. The thought of that excites me... but I am still very attracted to full females.
I believe part of my exploration into having sex with 15-20 prostitutes (I lost count) has to do with freeing myself from the tendrils of religion. Doing an act that I know is so taboo in my former religion empowers me to distance myself from it. That distance is something I need. I can't stand organized religion and it's surefire dogmatism of morality. Who are they to tell me what is moral? There was guilt, but also an accompanying sense of vanquishment and separation from any sort of God that might exist that I found comforting. It was like a moment of guilt followed by a sense of me sticking my middle finger up at the controlling religious roots that held me captive and took such advantage of my first 2 decades of life. I loved that feeling.
I have studied my guilt and found that it lies within the context of not being able to connect with my wife. I blame myself for that. I want great sex and I can't have it. The guilt does not come from any sense of "oh my... I am going to hell now" as I don't believe such a place exists. I just feel badly that there exists no tantalizing sexual connection with my wife.
Monday, August 11, 2008
I've Never Told Anyone This Story Before
I've never told anyone this story before.
I recently had unprotected sex with an escort. At our previous session, she had implicitly offered to let me have sex with her without a condom with no extra charge requested or required. I chickened out at the time and used a condom anyway. My instincts told me that I should not see her again, that sex with her would be unsafe and that it was time to move to a different escort. For the next two months, I stayed away from her and all escorts. But she haunted my thoughts daily--all I could think about was having sex with her, raw and uncovered. I finally gave in to temptation and saw her, knowing that she wanted me to fuck her bareback. I gave her exactly what she (and I) wanted and it was some of the best sex I've ever had.
Now I've been seeing escorts for over two years, ever since I found out about the various escort internet boards, and have seen around a dozen different women. Though I've never contracted anything or even really worried about it, this experience freaked me out about contracting an STD. I wondered if every twinge or irritation in my crotch was some nasty bacterial infection or possibly worse. I had to think of excuses not have sex with my wife in the event that I would infect her and then she would find out, divorce me, take custody of my children and basically ruin my life. I couldn't use the family doctor to get STD tested--I didn't want to risk a positive result that would have to be reported to the State who would eventually notify my wife. I had to drive to another city and use an anonymous testing center under a pseudonym, and then pay for the service in cash so my insurance bill would not show up at the house. That week while waiting for my full test results was one of the longest weeks in my life. I could not sleep at night. I prayed to God that if the results were negative, I would give up this vice altogether.
Luckily all test results were negative--I was clean. It has been more than a month since my STD tests and I still have some psychosomatic symptoms that I occasionally worry about. I have not seen an escort since my last encounter, but the temptation is still very much there. I'm trying to understand why I do what I do--part of it is for the sex (though I have an obliging if unenthusiastic wife), but also because having sex with other women makes me feel sexy and respected. I've worked hard for years to provide for my family and to do all the right things--sometimes I just want to be appreciated as a man and to have my inner needs met, to feel wanted instead of just accommodated. I am under no illusions that these women see me for any reason other than the money, but the carnal fulfillment, and ego gratification is very had to ignore. I'm hoping, praying that this latest episode will shock me into giving this up for good but somehow in my gut I know that I will lose again to temptation. It's just too easy to do. And I like it too much.
I recently had unprotected sex with an escort. At our previous session, she had implicitly offered to let me have sex with her without a condom with no extra charge requested or required. I chickened out at the time and used a condom anyway. My instincts told me that I should not see her again, that sex with her would be unsafe and that it was time to move to a different escort. For the next two months, I stayed away from her and all escorts. But she haunted my thoughts daily--all I could think about was having sex with her, raw and uncovered. I finally gave in to temptation and saw her, knowing that she wanted me to fuck her bareback. I gave her exactly what she (and I) wanted and it was some of the best sex I've ever had.
Now I've been seeing escorts for over two years, ever since I found out about the various escort internet boards, and have seen around a dozen different women. Though I've never contracted anything or even really worried about it, this experience freaked me out about contracting an STD. I wondered if every twinge or irritation in my crotch was some nasty bacterial infection or possibly worse. I had to think of excuses not have sex with my wife in the event that I would infect her and then she would find out, divorce me, take custody of my children and basically ruin my life. I couldn't use the family doctor to get STD tested--I didn't want to risk a positive result that would have to be reported to the State who would eventually notify my wife. I had to drive to another city and use an anonymous testing center under a pseudonym, and then pay for the service in cash so my insurance bill would not show up at the house. That week while waiting for my full test results was one of the longest weeks in my life. I could not sleep at night. I prayed to God that if the results were negative, I would give up this vice altogether.
Luckily all test results were negative--I was clean. It has been more than a month since my STD tests and I still have some psychosomatic symptoms that I occasionally worry about. I have not seen an escort since my last encounter, but the temptation is still very much there. I'm trying to understand why I do what I do--part of it is for the sex (though I have an obliging if unenthusiastic wife), but also because having sex with other women makes me feel sexy and respected. I've worked hard for years to provide for my family and to do all the right things--sometimes I just want to be appreciated as a man and to have my inner needs met, to feel wanted instead of just accommodated. I am under no illusions that these women see me for any reason other than the money, but the carnal fulfillment, and ego gratification is very had to ignore. I'm hoping, praying that this latest episode will shock me into giving this up for good but somehow in my gut I know that I will lose again to temptation. It's just too easy to do. And I like it too much.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I'm Only Going To Be Alive Once
I am now in my mid 40s. In my early 20s, a time when I had very little sex experience, I'd gotten married. We were incompatible sexually, never really comfortable together that way. Still, we had a big group of friends and family. Because of that (and just plain fear of change,) we stayed together for several years.
During this time of sexual frustration at home, I became obsessively interested in streetwalkers. At first I would just go to different parts of town where street prostitutes worked and watch them. Then one day I paid for a blowjob and it was on— every chance I got I was out getting street sex. In the car, in alleys, doorways and parking lots, in the hallways of apartment buildings, once in an airshaft of a public housing project, in the cab of an abandoned truck and sometimes in scary hotels.
It was an adventure, and there was a "thrill of the hunt" almost as fun as the sex. I knew all the different parts of town where girls would be, and which types would be there— from the classier ladies to the crack smokers and junkies.
The really rough, druggie girls were fascinating to me because they were exotic and intense. (After all, I grew up on a farm and had just moved to the city a few years earlier.) I did this in such a compulsive gonad-stupor that I only later gained the minimal empathy required to realize what hellish lives many of these women must have had. I realize now what karmic awfulness I was implicating myself in.
Still, I'm glad for many things I got to experience— the kinds of girls and body types I would have never otherwise been able to explore. Beautiful fat girls, black girls, tiny small girls, tall-like-a-basketball player girls, asian girls, classic blond bombshells, punk rockers, beautiful mature-aged ladies, etc.
Prostitution is often thought of as a disease risk, but I never met a street-girl during this time who didn't carry condoms and insist on their use. I never felt endangered, aside from the possibility of getting jumped or carjacked in some of the neighborhoods I went to for sex (which never happened either.)
Some of the situations were completely odd, but totally fun. I remember running into a cute, funny, curly-haired girl on the street once. I would have never guessed that she was turning tricks until she made the first move of propositioning me. We went up to her room and I laid on the bed for a great blowjob. It was only after this that I noticed that she had a ferret on a leash scrambling around in the folds of her little fur coat.
My obsession pretty much ended when my wife and I divorced. I moved on, found a girlfriend with whom I had harmonious sex so excellent it made furtive back alley transactions seem uninteresting. I didn't look back.
Flash forward twenty years. In the wake of a breakup from another relationship and a series of professional failures, I find myself looking in the Erotic Services section, and eventually I meet up with a few girls advertising there.
It's been a very different set of experiences than before. It's much more expensive (though I feel I've gotten what I paid for.) These girls have been very professional, without signs of drug addiction or desperation. There has been a leisurely pace and a general good humor and friendliness that I didn't experience in the old days. Through the internet it's much easier to access different, diverse and exotic types that would be difficult to find otherwise. Finally, it takes a little research and investigation to find the experiences that are right for you, so be careful and use common sense if you're going to do this.
I met with a gorgeous older woman in her fifties. She was incredible. like nothing I ever encountered in streetwalker days. Gentle, cheerful, thoughtful. She seemed to truly enjoy having sex and talking with me. It was so much like a 'girlfriend experience' that it felt completely natural that I go down on her, which, again, she at least appeared to enjoy. She finished me off with a lovely blowjob. Laying around talking with her, I felt really comfortable. Walking up the block, I still could smell her scent on me. I realized that this had not only been the best sex I'd had with a prostitute, but some of the most memorable sex that I've had in my life, period.
I met with a preop transexual, who was stunning, friendly and awe-inspiring in fishnets and boots. I thought I would be freaked out, but she immediately put me at ease. I had a really fun time learning that the 'girl with something extra' experience was not really for me.
I met with a heartbreakingly beautiful latin lady who gave me a fantastic sensual massage ending with a perfectly controlled handjob. We sat naked in her studio for more than an hour after, idly talking. I could have proposed marriage then and there.
Most recently, a pretty blond BBW welcomed me to her place with cheerful jokes. She encouraged me to come multiple times and there was lots of giggly moving around and shifting of positions. Afterward, we swapped life histories.
As a sensualist, prostitution gives me access to experiences which would be otherwise impossible for me. As a human, it temporarily provides for me a kind of companionship I spend long periods without. I'm only going to be alive once, so I really might as well. (The judgement of others is really the only thing stopping me, and that's pretty easy to circumvent and/or disregard.)
During this time of sexual frustration at home, I became obsessively interested in streetwalkers. At first I would just go to different parts of town where street prostitutes worked and watch them. Then one day I paid for a blowjob and it was on— every chance I got I was out getting street sex. In the car, in alleys, doorways and parking lots, in the hallways of apartment buildings, once in an airshaft of a public housing project, in the cab of an abandoned truck and sometimes in scary hotels.
It was an adventure, and there was a "thrill of the hunt" almost as fun as the sex. I knew all the different parts of town where girls would be, and which types would be there— from the classier ladies to the crack smokers and junkies.
The really rough, druggie girls were fascinating to me because they were exotic and intense. (After all, I grew up on a farm and had just moved to the city a few years earlier.) I did this in such a compulsive gonad-stupor that I only later gained the minimal empathy required to realize what hellish lives many of these women must have had. I realize now what karmic awfulness I was implicating myself in.
Still, I'm glad for many things I got to experience— the kinds of girls and body types I would have never otherwise been able to explore. Beautiful fat girls, black girls, tiny small girls, tall-like-a-basketball player girls, asian girls, classic blond bombshells, punk rockers, beautiful mature-aged ladies, etc.
Prostitution is often thought of as a disease risk, but I never met a street-girl during this time who didn't carry condoms and insist on their use. I never felt endangered, aside from the possibility of getting jumped or carjacked in some of the neighborhoods I went to for sex (which never happened either.)
Some of the situations were completely odd, but totally fun. I remember running into a cute, funny, curly-haired girl on the street once. I would have never guessed that she was turning tricks until she made the first move of propositioning me. We went up to her room and I laid on the bed for a great blowjob. It was only after this that I noticed that she had a ferret on a leash scrambling around in the folds of her little fur coat.
My obsession pretty much ended when my wife and I divorced. I moved on, found a girlfriend with whom I had harmonious sex so excellent it made furtive back alley transactions seem uninteresting. I didn't look back.
Flash forward twenty years. In the wake of a breakup from another relationship and a series of professional failures, I find myself looking in the Erotic Services section, and eventually I meet up with a few girls advertising there.
It's been a very different set of experiences than before. It's much more expensive (though I feel I've gotten what I paid for.) These girls have been very professional, without signs of drug addiction or desperation. There has been a leisurely pace and a general good humor and friendliness that I didn't experience in the old days. Through the internet it's much easier to access different, diverse and exotic types that would be difficult to find otherwise. Finally, it takes a little research and investigation to find the experiences that are right for you, so be careful and use common sense if you're going to do this.
I met with a gorgeous older woman in her fifties. She was incredible. like nothing I ever encountered in streetwalker days. Gentle, cheerful, thoughtful. She seemed to truly enjoy having sex and talking with me. It was so much like a 'girlfriend experience' that it felt completely natural that I go down on her, which, again, she at least appeared to enjoy. She finished me off with a lovely blowjob. Laying around talking with her, I felt really comfortable. Walking up the block, I still could smell her scent on me. I realized that this had not only been the best sex I'd had with a prostitute, but some of the most memorable sex that I've had in my life, period.
I met with a preop transexual, who was stunning, friendly and awe-inspiring in fishnets and boots. I thought I would be freaked out, but she immediately put me at ease. I had a really fun time learning that the 'girl with something extra' experience was not really for me.
I met with a heartbreakingly beautiful latin lady who gave me a fantastic sensual massage ending with a perfectly controlled handjob. We sat naked in her studio for more than an hour after, idly talking. I could have proposed marriage then and there.
Most recently, a pretty blond BBW welcomed me to her place with cheerful jokes. She encouraged me to come multiple times and there was lots of giggly moving around and shifting of positions. Afterward, we swapped life histories.
As a sensualist, prostitution gives me access to experiences which would be otherwise impossible for me. As a human, it temporarily provides for me a kind of companionship I spend long periods without. I'm only going to be alive once, so I really might as well. (The judgement of others is really the only thing stopping me, and that's pretty easy to circumvent and/or disregard.)
Friday, July 25, 2008
I Partook
My wife at the time had left me, and my confidence was at an all-time low.
I got on one of those phone lines and replied to an "exotic Asian female" as she put it.
I show up at her apartment, and she ushers me to her back bedroom where she has a myriad of sex toys and an half full ashtray.
She comes into the room and starts smoking crack.
I had never smoked crack, but she offered, and my mind wasn't right, so I partook.
Next thing I know, we're high on crack and she's ready to do it.
It was very mechanical and I had trouble getting into it.
After 30 minutes, she said my time was up and we hung out and smoked yet more crack.
I ended up spending $600 for the evening and felt like a hollow shell of a man afterwards.
I got on one of those phone lines and replied to an "exotic Asian female" as she put it.
I show up at her apartment, and she ushers me to her back bedroom where she has a myriad of sex toys and an half full ashtray.
She comes into the room and starts smoking crack.
I had never smoked crack, but she offered, and my mind wasn't right, so I partook.
Next thing I know, we're high on crack and she's ready to do it.
It was very mechanical and I had trouble getting into it.
After 30 minutes, she said my time was up and we hung out and smoked yet more crack.
I ended up spending $600 for the evening and felt like a hollow shell of a man afterwards.
Monday, July 21, 2008
I Was Smitten
My problem is that I tend to fall in love a little with my "providers," sometimes just a crush, sometimes veering towards more. And it’s sometimes mutual—I’ve actually dated two providers I first met as a client. Truly dated, without paying for the sex. I think it goes back to my young marriage. I was quite young, 19 years old, and I married a girl my age who was so completely sexually open that she set an almost impossible bar for the relationships I’ve had since. We divorced when we were both 23, and for a long time the only way I could experience the kind of sexual intensity I had with my former wife was to date much older women, 30 or older. Occasionally I would date someone my age or younger, but invariably I was disappointed. Younger women, and I know this is generalizing, are just not as comfortable in their own skin. Now, at the age of 38, I realize just how lucky I was with my young wife.
Right around the age of 30, I started seeing prostitutes, always in between "real" girlfriends. I use a local Internet review board and do a lot of research before settling on someone new. For the first few years, it was more about sexual variety—women of different ages, races, body types. And they were almost always extremely sexually skilled. It created kind of a vicious circle: when I started my next relationship, I would long for and expect the sexual competence and freedom that prostitutes often provided. Finally, about four years in, I started falling for a provider for the first time. Her working name was Trixie, and I was smitten the moment I laid my eyes on her. She looked like Bettie Page, tall and voluptuous, and we both felt an instant rapport. The sex was completely off the charts from the very first time. I’ve been with many women and can be a little jaded, but she surprised me with every move. From the deepest deep throat of my life to her actually asking for anal (and coming that way), she initially reeled me in with her superior sexual skills. But then, fuck, she turned out to be smart, as in scary smart. She was more than just a dirty talker... she would spin crazy, creative, erotic stories on the fly, while we were fucking, and by the time an hour was up, I felt as though I’d had sex with a dozen goddesses.
I saw Trixie as a paying client for about six months before I finally asked her out. I took her out just a few times, and we had a lot of fun, as well as a lot of really great sex. Unfortunately, I started having true feelings for her. I remember a really sad moment where the impossibility of the situation hit home. We were having Sunday brunch at a cool little neighborhood spot, and it hit me: "Dude, you’re dating a prostitute." I suddenly realized that this was something I just was never going to be able to explain to most people, certainly not my family, although I’ve since told a couple of friends who didn’t think it was that big a deal. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her as a non-client. I stayed away for almost two years and went back as a client just once before she retired. We had a sweet little reunion, and she told me about her plans for going back to school, and getting married, and moving to a small mountain town. She said, "You know, we probably could have made something work." We had amazing sex one last time. About a year later, I got an e-mail invite to a BBQ at her and her new husband’s place. I had a new girlfriend at the time, and I couldn’t figure out a way of explaining my connection to Trixie, so I ignored the invitation. I think of her fondly now, but haven’t tried to make contact.
Since then, I’ve dated one other provider, and a part of me wants very badly to ask out another who I’ve been seeing recently. It’s sad, because the sex is at the level I desire, and, like so many working girls I’ve met, she’s incredibly witty, big-hearted, and intelligent. But there’s no good end. It would break the hearts of so many people in my life if they knew the truth about a relationship that started that way, and I couldn’t live with myself lying about it. I have a suspicion that I will always harbor crushes and strong feelings for providers. There are worse crosses to bear.
Right around the age of 30, I started seeing prostitutes, always in between "real" girlfriends. I use a local Internet review board and do a lot of research before settling on someone new. For the first few years, it was more about sexual variety—women of different ages, races, body types. And they were almost always extremely sexually skilled. It created kind of a vicious circle: when I started my next relationship, I would long for and expect the sexual competence and freedom that prostitutes often provided. Finally, about four years in, I started falling for a provider for the first time. Her working name was Trixie, and I was smitten the moment I laid my eyes on her. She looked like Bettie Page, tall and voluptuous, and we both felt an instant rapport. The sex was completely off the charts from the very first time. I’ve been with many women and can be a little jaded, but she surprised me with every move. From the deepest deep throat of my life to her actually asking for anal (and coming that way), she initially reeled me in with her superior sexual skills. But then, fuck, she turned out to be smart, as in scary smart. She was more than just a dirty talker... she would spin crazy, creative, erotic stories on the fly, while we were fucking, and by the time an hour was up, I felt as though I’d had sex with a dozen goddesses.
I saw Trixie as a paying client for about six months before I finally asked her out. I took her out just a few times, and we had a lot of fun, as well as a lot of really great sex. Unfortunately, I started having true feelings for her. I remember a really sad moment where the impossibility of the situation hit home. We were having Sunday brunch at a cool little neighborhood spot, and it hit me: "Dude, you’re dating a prostitute." I suddenly realized that this was something I just was never going to be able to explain to most people, certainly not my family, although I’ve since told a couple of friends who didn’t think it was that big a deal. Anyway, that was the last time I saw her as a non-client. I stayed away for almost two years and went back as a client just once before she retired. We had a sweet little reunion, and she told me about her plans for going back to school, and getting married, and moving to a small mountain town. She said, "You know, we probably could have made something work." We had amazing sex one last time. About a year later, I got an e-mail invite to a BBQ at her and her new husband’s place. I had a new girlfriend at the time, and I couldn’t figure out a way of explaining my connection to Trixie, so I ignored the invitation. I think of her fondly now, but haven’t tried to make contact.
Since then, I’ve dated one other provider, and a part of me wants very badly to ask out another who I’ve been seeing recently. It’s sad, because the sex is at the level I desire, and, like so many working girls I’ve met, she’s incredibly witty, big-hearted, and intelligent. But there’s no good end. It would break the hearts of so many people in my life if they knew the truth about a relationship that started that way, and I couldn’t live with myself lying about it. I have a suspicion that I will always harbor crushes and strong feelings for providers. There are worse crosses to bear.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I Said That One
I saw a sex worker just over a year ago, but I had thought about it for a long long time. It never seemed like something I could really do. A sex advice column pointed me to an escort review board for my town. Reading through it, I was shocked at the openness of the posters and just how many different services were available. It didn't change my mind, but I kept looking every few weeks, using the advertisements on the site instead of porn to jerk off. The women seemed closer, more real, with a call I could actually fuck them.
I changed my mind a year ago because I was turning 30 and I was still a virgin. At the time going to a prostitute seemed like the only way to do something about it. Even after I had made my decision it took me a few weeks to actually make the call. I chose an incall service near my apartment, I didn't want to meet her at my place and I didn't want to spend more money on a hotel room.
I was so nervous when making the call I barely paid attention to what the operator was saying. I heard the name of a girl I remembered from the website and I said that one. I noted down the information on where to go, but I made a mistake and had to call back twice.
Once I finally got there, I was shocked by how broken down the room was, but the girl was pretty. I handed my money, she told me to get comfortable and she went out of the room for 5 minutes. I had no idea what to do. I removed my clothes, keeping on my underwear. When she came back in the room, she immediately got undressed and got on the bed. She was beautiful, but this is not what I had imagined. I couldn't do most of what I had in mind: couldn't undress her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't perform cunnilingus. She was also weirded out by my penis, I have a phimosis. Still, I was enjoying myself until she got on top of me. She immediately started to moan, and it hit me as incredibly fake. I lost my erection. We spent the rest of our time together lying on the bed, me holding her.
For the next few weeks what I had done would hit me: sometimes it would make me happy, sometimes sad. Now it's just another memory. I stayed away from the review site for a few month, but I started going back recently. I may end up trying again, but right now it doesn't feel yet like I need to.
I changed my mind a year ago because I was turning 30 and I was still a virgin. At the time going to a prostitute seemed like the only way to do something about it. Even after I had made my decision it took me a few weeks to actually make the call. I chose an incall service near my apartment, I didn't want to meet her at my place and I didn't want to spend more money on a hotel room.
I was so nervous when making the call I barely paid attention to what the operator was saying. I heard the name of a girl I remembered from the website and I said that one. I noted down the information on where to go, but I made a mistake and had to call back twice.
Once I finally got there, I was shocked by how broken down the room was, but the girl was pretty. I handed my money, she told me to get comfortable and she went out of the room for 5 minutes. I had no idea what to do. I removed my clothes, keeping on my underwear. When she came back in the room, she immediately got undressed and got on the bed. She was beautiful, but this is not what I had imagined. I couldn't do most of what I had in mind: couldn't undress her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't perform cunnilingus. She was also weirded out by my penis, I have a phimosis. Still, I was enjoying myself until she got on top of me. She immediately started to moan, and it hit me as incredibly fake. I lost my erection. We spent the rest of our time together lying on the bed, me holding her.
For the next few weeks what I had done would hit me: sometimes it would make me happy, sometimes sad. Now it's just another memory. I stayed away from the review site for a few month, but I started going back recently. I may end up trying again, but right now it doesn't feel yet like I need to.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
I Must Be The Luckiest Man In The World
I have had sex with many, many sex workers. I think I had sex with a transvestite once as well. I started in Germany, where prostitution (at least most of it) is legal. I was hooked. Even after marrying I wanted them. It was an addiction. This was at the dawn of the AIDs scare but I was reckless. Somehow I never caught anything. So, I have been patronizing prostitutes for almost 30 years, most of them streetwalkers, but not all. A few months ago my wife found out most of it and almost left me. Somehow, for some reason, she still loves me. I love her. We are still together, but as long as she lives I will never touch another woman. I cannot believe she stayed, but I must be the luckiest man in the world.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I'm a Young Black Guy
I'm a young black guy with a thing for older voluptuous white women. Prostitution has helped me realize my fantasy. My most memorable experience was with a single mother. We set a date at a hotel. She got some candles, started with a massage and we started having a nice conversation. Her body type was prefect for me: slightly saggy big breasts, round belly and nice ass. We got a great time together. 5 minutes after fucking, she started telling me funny stories about her son, the apple of her eye. We talked about normal stuff, like old acquaintances who had already met each other. I'm still struck by how giving she was by telling me about her son. Maybe she felt like I needed a little more confidence, she even gave me some nice compliments. Those lasted more than 1 hour.
I keep thinking of how nice it would be to keep my head buried in her chest, for protection. To only leave it unless absolutely necessary.
I have not tried that hard to explain my preference for larger white women to myself. Maybe I'm afraid it's based on this horrible stereotype of white women that I'm not even aware of. Maybe I'm afraid to put black women in perspective in this too. It's hard enough to talk about sex without putting race in it. As for my age preference: maybe I'm looking for a mother-son relationship.
I keep thinking of how nice it would be to keep my head buried in her chest, for protection. To only leave it unless absolutely necessary.
I have not tried that hard to explain my preference for larger white women to myself. Maybe I'm afraid it's based on this horrible stereotype of white women that I'm not even aware of. Maybe I'm afraid to put black women in perspective in this too. It's hard enough to talk about sex without putting race in it. As for my age preference: maybe I'm looking for a mother-son relationship.
Friday, May 23, 2008
I Like Women
I'm 41 and divorced. I have had a few girlfriends since breaking up, but the combination of a demanding job and the fact I spend most weekends with my children means I am usually single.
I have a high sex drive - not freakish, but I like sex, and I like women. I started seeing working girls after I'd been single for 6 months, and have had the usual range of experiences - I even made friends with one of the girls.
A few weeks ago, I arranged to see a girl who advertised on a web site. Her online persona is very much the crazy cumslut porn queen - she wears exotic make-up, has huge silicon boobs, and in her blog wonders if she's a slut or a whore.
I visited the hotel where she was staying, expecting a full-on session of filthy porno sex - and I wasn't disappointed. Thing is, afterwards, we chatted for a bit - and she opened up to me, a total stranger who had paid her for sex - about her life. She showed me pictures of her cats, told me about her no-good ex husband, how she was hoping to move to a remote place and just have lots of animals. She told me about her boyfriend, and how her submissive bedroom persona was matched by a bossy and demanding real world attitude.
I fell a little bit in love with her - wanted to hold her and make her feel safe. Of course, I knew that to her I was just another nameless guy with a hard-on, so I suppressed the feeling.
I have a high sex drive - not freakish, but I like sex, and I like women. I started seeing working girls after I'd been single for 6 months, and have had the usual range of experiences - I even made friends with one of the girls.
A few weeks ago, I arranged to see a girl who advertised on a web site. Her online persona is very much the crazy cumslut porn queen - she wears exotic make-up, has huge silicon boobs, and in her blog wonders if she's a slut or a whore.
I visited the hotel where she was staying, expecting a full-on session of filthy porno sex - and I wasn't disappointed. Thing is, afterwards, we chatted for a bit - and she opened up to me, a total stranger who had paid her for sex - about her life. She showed me pictures of her cats, told me about her no-good ex husband, how she was hoping to move to a remote place and just have lots of animals. She told me about her boyfriend, and how her submissive bedroom persona was matched by a bossy and demanding real world attitude.
I fell a little bit in love with her - wanted to hold her and make her feel safe. Of course, I knew that to her I was just another nameless guy with a hard-on, so I suppressed the feeling.
Monday, May 12, 2008
I'm Faithful In Every Other Sense Of The Word
I don't know how I got interested in prostitutes, but as I get older, and my sex drive increases, I find they're more of a necessity and less of a lark. If I don't get some kind of release at least once a week (and masturbation doesn't do it for me nearly as well as someone else doing it), in a massage parlor or with a prostitute.
I'm happily married, but my wife and I don't have sex nearly as often as we used to before our daughter was born, and unfortunately, it's starting to wear on me. Not only that, but when we do end up having sex, I have to do all the work, get her all worked up and then get to humpin' at her command. It's fine and everything, but sometimes it's nice to have someone focus on me, and my sexual needs and wants, for a change.
It's not emotional betrayal but rather a physical one, but I strangely don't feel guilty after, probably because I'm faithful in every other sense of the word. I always, always, always wear a condom so I don't bring anything home, but I think I'm getting more turned on by the random nature of the hooker-john relationship and the sexual freedom prostitutes engender.
Every time I go to a brothel, it gets a little bit more fun, also. The freedom I enjoy, the challenge of finding a whore I connect well with and can enjoy the act with, rather than it just be someone who's there because she has to be. The last time I went, I got to have sex with an older (then me, she was about 38. I'm 31) Russian lady, who still occupies a warm place in my heart because she looked me in the eyes as I climaxed and genuinely seemed to be interested in my pleasure.
That's what turns me on.
I'm happily married, but my wife and I don't have sex nearly as often as we used to before our daughter was born, and unfortunately, it's starting to wear on me. Not only that, but when we do end up having sex, I have to do all the work, get her all worked up and then get to humpin' at her command. It's fine and everything, but sometimes it's nice to have someone focus on me, and my sexual needs and wants, for a change.
It's not emotional betrayal but rather a physical one, but I strangely don't feel guilty after, probably because I'm faithful in every other sense of the word. I always, always, always wear a condom so I don't bring anything home, but I think I'm getting more turned on by the random nature of the hooker-john relationship and the sexual freedom prostitutes engender.
Every time I go to a brothel, it gets a little bit more fun, also. The freedom I enjoy, the challenge of finding a whore I connect well with and can enjoy the act with, rather than it just be someone who's there because she has to be. The last time I went, I got to have sex with an older (then me, she was about 38. I'm 31) Russian lady, who still occupies a warm place in my heart because she looked me in the eyes as I climaxed and genuinely seemed to be interested in my pleasure.
That's what turns me on.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
I've Seen Every Kind Of Hooker Going
I've often heard women wonder why men with sexy wives or girlfriends would solicit prostitutes. The answer really is simple: Even Marilyn Monroe could get a little boring after a few years, and having sex with other women is fun. Just like skiing is fun, or eating chocolate cake, or playing a slot machine, or riding a roller coaster. If you get over the guilt of the lying first. Or like me, if you are in an open relationship. Sex with a working girl is easier than a bar or party hook up, and they won't want to have a real serious relationship with you like 90 % of the women I've slept with. Some guys can't keep em, I can't get rid of them.
I've seen every kind of hooker going--classy hotel incalls, quickies, all nighters, girls who are brilliant and totally together and are just doing it for a year long lark and extra cash, siliconed strippers who show up totally high and bore you with their coke rant, and others keep telling you they are about to graduate school and quit the biz, only to see their online ads for years to come. Mostly it's fine, sometimes a blessing, sometimes depressing a little, but I love the simplicity of it. You make a phone call, she comes over, within minutes she's naked, you're fucking her, and then you are done. Both of us know what the rules are, with no discussion beforehand or questions after. Hook ups and dating are never that clear.
I like Asian girls (have since I was a teen). I like their skin, their soft features, their hair. I ordered one over in the middle of the day a month ago. I was very horny, and only wanted a little talk before sex, but after fucking her, cumming on her face and helping her clean up, it's always a good time to get to know someone with the remaining part of the hour. She was straight off the boat. With Human Trafficking being the boogie man of the 21st century, I wanted to find out how she came to NYC and this line of work.
She told me that she was a PE teacher in China, and that she knew of women who had married American men, and it had worked out well for them. She joined an agency, and was chosen by a man. He met her in China, her English was not very good, but he took her back to rural Pennsylvania. Her English improved, but the relationship did not. The man and his family told her she talked too loud. ("I am teacher," she protested. "I have to have voice that the children can hear!") The husband refused to teach her to drive, so she was stranded when he was away, which was often. It was too far to walk to the grocery store. He changed his mind about children and wanted her to go on birth control. There was no physical abuse, but it sounds like the typical man who would want a mail order bride--a socially impaired creep who wants a domestic doll, not a real human, and thought Chinese girls would complain less than USA women.
Eventually, she told me, they divorced, but he denied her a green card and refused to pay for plane fare back to China. (This process is a little sketchy--her English not so good). She bussed it to NYC, and went looking for work. She ran out of money, had no place to sleep. A woman told her about this. "Where I come from this is the worst type of work. But what can I do? I know nobody. I need to make money. To go back to China." She began to sob, and we held each other. I tried to tell her that everything can still work out, and that she could still have a family and not work like this.
I gave her my number, told her if she needed help with English or anything, call me. "We don't have to have sex," I told her. "Friends."
She has not called me, but I hope everything works out for her.
I've seen every kind of hooker going--classy hotel incalls, quickies, all nighters, girls who are brilliant and totally together and are just doing it for a year long lark and extra cash, siliconed strippers who show up totally high and bore you with their coke rant, and others keep telling you they are about to graduate school and quit the biz, only to see their online ads for years to come. Mostly it's fine, sometimes a blessing, sometimes depressing a little, but I love the simplicity of it. You make a phone call, she comes over, within minutes she's naked, you're fucking her, and then you are done. Both of us know what the rules are, with no discussion beforehand or questions after. Hook ups and dating are never that clear.
I like Asian girls (have since I was a teen). I like their skin, their soft features, their hair. I ordered one over in the middle of the day a month ago. I was very horny, and only wanted a little talk before sex, but after fucking her, cumming on her face and helping her clean up, it's always a good time to get to know someone with the remaining part of the hour. She was straight off the boat. With Human Trafficking being the boogie man of the 21st century, I wanted to find out how she came to NYC and this line of work.
She told me that she was a PE teacher in China, and that she knew of women who had married American men, and it had worked out well for them. She joined an agency, and was chosen by a man. He met her in China, her English was not very good, but he took her back to rural Pennsylvania. Her English improved, but the relationship did not. The man and his family told her she talked too loud. ("I am teacher," she protested. "I have to have voice that the children can hear!") The husband refused to teach her to drive, so she was stranded when he was away, which was often. It was too far to walk to the grocery store. He changed his mind about children and wanted her to go on birth control. There was no physical abuse, but it sounds like the typical man who would want a mail order bride--a socially impaired creep who wants a domestic doll, not a real human, and thought Chinese girls would complain less than USA women.
Eventually, she told me, they divorced, but he denied her a green card and refused to pay for plane fare back to China. (This process is a little sketchy--her English not so good). She bussed it to NYC, and went looking for work. She ran out of money, had no place to sleep. A woman told her about this. "Where I come from this is the worst type of work. But what can I do? I know nobody. I need to make money. To go back to China." She began to sob, and we held each other. I tried to tell her that everything can still work out, and that she could still have a family and not work like this.
I gave her my number, told her if she needed help with English or anything, call me. "We don't have to have sex," I told her. "Friends."
She has not called me, but I hope everything works out for her.
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