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.

I Am Ashamed of Nothing I Have Done

I spent twenty years, eight months, and one day in the US military. The first ten of those years I was happily married to a sexual goddess. We made love, we fucked, we had casual sex with each other almost every day for almost every day of our marriage. The only times we didn't have sex was when I was down-range for three, four, or even seven-month deployments. The best sex in my life would be in the weeks following my return home from those deployments. We would make love and just plain fuck for a whole week. Little did I realize I was married to a sex addict; I asked the question I didn't want the answer to: have you been screwing other men while I'm away? I filed for divorce the next day, and did an ERD (early return of dependents) with my command. In one short week, I went from having mad/crazy love-making/fuck-fests almost every day to celibate guy.

I was stationed in Germany at the time and was only a short four hour drive to Amsterdam. Two months after having no sex and getting very tired of the whole masturbation thing, I made a drive up to Amsterdam with a few single friends. We had a purpose, and it was to get me laid. We arrived about 5PM and started off at the Hard Rock drinking insane amounts of Heineken. None of us had ever done anything like this. (Although I did pay for a virgin co-worker to have sex at a so-called Turkish women's prison in SE Turkey in 1992 during one of my several stints for OP Northern Watch/OP Provide Comfort). We needed to take the integrity-first edge off, so to speak. We started roaming the district a couple hours later. Since we were window shopping, we walked around for about an hour trying to find that "perfect" girl. I found mine first.

She was about 5'6", light brown hair, smallish but perky breasts, and not a day over 22. There was no negotiation: fifty guilder. At the time, the guilder-to-dollar exchange rate was about 2:1, so $25 for a session. I had no idea what a session comprised, but I was quite willing to part with fifty guilder to actually touch a naked woman. I went in, she closed the door, pulled the curtain and switched on a small lamp and turned off the overhead light. The room was tiny. It had a sink, a single bed and a chair. There wasn't much room for anything else. I sat down on the bed, and she took off my shoes and socks, then my shirt, and then she unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my 501's, and then slid my jeans and underwear off. She neatly placed all of my clothes on the chair, put my socks in the shoes, and placed them under the chair. Very neat, very proper, and very matter-of-fact. Then she examined my now very erect penis, and then she took off her bra and slid out of her panties. Kneeling there on the floor, looking up at me, was a thing of beauty. Not an ounce of fat, perfectly taught belly, spectacularly symmetric breasts, and a completely shaved pubic area. She stood up and laid me on my back on the small bed, my feet hanging over the edge. She placed a condom on my penis, then straddled me, and then slowly lowered herself onto me. She maintained complete control, riding me until I came, about 15 minutes.

She took off the condom, wiped me up and handed me my clothes. We chatted while I dressed, and in doing so, found we were both Czech. When I left, I asked if I could come back again later that evening. She said that would be fine, but she would be vacating the spot at 2200 hours when another girl would be taking over. That would be fine, she said. My friends were waiting for me when I left, asking all the standard questions (how was it? was it worth it?). We walked around trying to find "perfect" for the other guys. When one of them found one, we'd wait outside, until we'd all had our A-dam cherries popped. I found my first experience so exhilarating that I paid for sex three more times that night... once more with my Czech beauty. The next day was a carbon copy of the first: lots of beer and then sex with more girls. I visited my Czech beauty three times that weekend, and over the course of the next six months, I spent every other weekend in A-dam, buying blocks of time with her. Of course we spent a lot of time fucking, but we also spooned for hours, talking about life in America and life in Praha. I'd bring American cigarettes from the base commissary and cosmetics from the BX for her after the second weekend. (I asked her if I could bring something for her once, and then I'd always ask what else she wanted.) Those spring and summer months of 1996 linger in my mind for two reasons: I was single again for the first time in over 12 years, and I had amazing sex and spooning with "my" Czech beauty in A-dam.

I have been a john, off and on, since that crazy year. I've paid for sex with college girls in Seattle while on my way to Japan. I spent an extra two days in Frankfurt, returning from my last tour in Iraq, just to spend some Euros in one of the various Eros Centers. I've picked up streetwalkers for a twenty dollar blow job, and I've spent as much as five hundred bucks (not including a room and dinner afterwards). I've crossed the South Texas border for weekend sex jaunts. When I was stationed in Japan, I even took a week-long trip to Thailand for the single-minded purpose of fucking, fucking, and more fucking.

Here's what I've found out about myself, and life in general, in the process of being a john. I'm not a big fan of Asian women--although the Thai trip was completely otherworldly, in terms of no-holds-barred, freaky, whatever you ever dreamed of, off-the-charts-and-straight-to-hell sex--I prefer the end-of-century eastern European women of Amsterdam and Germany (Czechs, Poles and Russians). American girls charge too fucking much. As much as I love to perform cunnilingus, and I'd rather spend an hour giving before an hour of receiving, I've only done it with one working girl. I still do not have herpes (I'm certainly a very, very, very lucky man). I'd just as soon spend $300 to come right away and then spoon for 45 minutes as I would to have a whiskey-dick hard on and never come for an hour. You can, in fact, buy intimacy by the hour, even if one half of it is feigned. Lesbian crackheads do not give good head. One can try to hang a sign on us, the collective john, as perpetuating the global conspiracy of sex/slave traffic, and I'll grant that my Thailand trip may have/probably did contribute to some sort of thuggery. But in the end, I am ashamed of nothing I have done.

I Was 22

I was 22 and set off for the my first trip to Europe at the beginning of summer break at my college. I only knew the rudiments of Latin which I had studied in high school and had no real destination. I began in the Netherland, Amsterdam and traveled by the seat of my pants for the next month. After the flight and short train ride I was at Centraal station Amsterdam. I had plenty of money saved up for the trip and a few days booked at a hostel downtown. While walking around taking in the sights of the city's abundant nightlife I stumbled into the infamous red light district. The place itself was beautiful with red neon lights reflecting off the many shops and windows that gave everything a pink haze. The area smelled of cigarettes and Pommes. There was a canal dividing the street which I kept close to as I watched people watch prostitutes. The people I observed actually soliciting were many and varied. Business men in dark suits from every ethnic background, groups of young boys daring each other to talk to women in the windows they didn't have the guts to talk to themselves, US military men, and a host of others.

I honestly did not plan to actually try it, but felt infected with the aura of the people around me and finally gave in. I probably walked down the canal each direction 3 times before I could muster the courage to approach one. She was a cute Croatian girl in one of the side streets. She reminded me of a girl I had always wanted to fool around with in high school. I went into her little room, and she pulled the drape over the window over. My earlier observations led me to try and set a price. I think it was my first time negotiating the price of anything. I was so used to paying the listed price and then tax since I owned a wallet. We agreed on a 100 Euro for a half hour. I think I was so nervous that I could barely get it up so I figured I would spend the first ten minutes making small talk and trying to get to know her a bit. She was the same age as me and had been living in Croatia until a few months ago. I ended up talking about myself and asking her about the industry in general. We ended up talking until her alarm went off and realized I only had 5 minutes left. I paid for another half hour and got right down to it. She inspected me then put the condom on herself. The experience was rather interesting as I had never had sex with a body length mirror next to the bed. At times I wanted to kiss her which I found out is not common practice. I settled for trying to kiss her breast, but there was some kind of glitter and perfume on it and decided against trying again. At the end I was rather disappointed. I think it might have been better had I not been laid for a while but I was glad of the experience.

I don't know if this is the proper format but it was the best I could recall from memory and the journal I kept of the event.