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.
Showing posts with label GFE. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GFE. Show all posts
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I Couldn't Shut the Fuck Up
I'm 31 years old and married. I lead a very vanilla life, but I've been intrigued by sex since I was six and my same-aged next door neighbor asked me to pull down my pants so she could see up close the difference between me and her.
I met my wife as a freshman in college, and we were married sometime later. I've had one relationship in my life, and while it's not boring or empty of sex, I was tempted by the ads in the back of the weekly arts paper in my town. My first appointment was nerve-wracking. Here I was, walking into a "spa" with the intention of exchanging money for sex. I was nervous, I was excited, I was anxious, I was sweaty. And I couldn't shut the fuck up. Apparently, my chattiness scared off the five-four, freckly brunette who I picked out of a lineup of blondes. I paid $60 for a naked "body rub" and walked out with an erection. Two weeks later, I tried my luck again at a "body rub" establishment. Again, after running my yap too long, I scared off the girl (a large-breasted blonde who I would later learn went to high school with me). $40 later, I left frustrated. I returned a week later, this time only speaking when spoken to. I received a back rub with a long, slow, enjoyable hand-job and a promise that more would be available in the future. Our visits became more frequent and elevated to full-on intercourse on a massage table.
I've had sessions with roughly 25 different providers and had intercourse with about half. Some provided the "girlfriend experience." Others provided a quick fuck. Some couldn't even speak English (the Korean spas in D.C. are repugnant, but I've been twice). Mostly, there were a series of half-hearted hand-jobs. I have found few girls who "are into the work." Most aren't, and you can usually tell when you say hello. Each time, when presented with a girl who would rather be watching TV than fuck me, I could have walked away, making an excuse about leaving my wallet in the car or the lights on. But, I never have. Why?
It could be the self-destructive nature of the visit. Giving over $100, $120, $250 of my hard-earned non-profit salary for disinterested hand-jobs, blow-jobs full of teeth, or a quick fuck is the pinnacle of self-hate. The 60 to 90 seconds of orgasm is the only part that feels good. The rest--withdrawing the money from an ATM, handing it to someone else, pumping a drug-addicted, Marlboro-reeking twentysomething who couldn't be more disinterested in me, the walk of shame, the residual condom smell, the distraction of regret, the three or four days of beating up on myself, sneaking in the shower so my wife doesn't smell the rubber, smoke, hairspray, or cheesy perfume--is hell.
But, I keep doing it. Sometimes I go once a week. Sometimes it's once a month. Other times it's longer. But, I always relapse... and that's what it feels like: a relapse. As I type this, I'm thinking about the new large-breasted blonde at the body rub joint near my office, and our session last week, and I want to visit her right now. Except I can't. I just called, and she's home sick today.
I met my wife as a freshman in college, and we were married sometime later. I've had one relationship in my life, and while it's not boring or empty of sex, I was tempted by the ads in the back of the weekly arts paper in my town. My first appointment was nerve-wracking. Here I was, walking into a "spa" with the intention of exchanging money for sex. I was nervous, I was excited, I was anxious, I was sweaty. And I couldn't shut the fuck up. Apparently, my chattiness scared off the five-four, freckly brunette who I picked out of a lineup of blondes. I paid $60 for a naked "body rub" and walked out with an erection. Two weeks later, I tried my luck again at a "body rub" establishment. Again, after running my yap too long, I scared off the girl (a large-breasted blonde who I would later learn went to high school with me). $40 later, I left frustrated. I returned a week later, this time only speaking when spoken to. I received a back rub with a long, slow, enjoyable hand-job and a promise that more would be available in the future. Our visits became more frequent and elevated to full-on intercourse on a massage table.
I've had sessions with roughly 25 different providers and had intercourse with about half. Some provided the "girlfriend experience." Others provided a quick fuck. Some couldn't even speak English (the Korean spas in D.C. are repugnant, but I've been twice). Mostly, there were a series of half-hearted hand-jobs. I have found few girls who "are into the work." Most aren't, and you can usually tell when you say hello. Each time, when presented with a girl who would rather be watching TV than fuck me, I could have walked away, making an excuse about leaving my wallet in the car or the lights on. But, I never have. Why?
It could be the self-destructive nature of the visit. Giving over $100, $120, $250 of my hard-earned non-profit salary for disinterested hand-jobs, blow-jobs full of teeth, or a quick fuck is the pinnacle of self-hate. The 60 to 90 seconds of orgasm is the only part that feels good. The rest--withdrawing the money from an ATM, handing it to someone else, pumping a drug-addicted, Marlboro-reeking twentysomething who couldn't be more disinterested in me, the walk of shame, the residual condom smell, the distraction of regret, the three or four days of beating up on myself, sneaking in the shower so my wife doesn't smell the rubber, smoke, hairspray, or cheesy perfume--is hell.
But, I keep doing it. Sometimes I go once a week. Sometimes it's once a month. Other times it's longer. But, I always relapse... and that's what it feels like: a relapse. As I type this, I'm thinking about the new large-breasted blonde at the body rub joint near my office, and our session last week, and I want to visit her right now. Except I can't. I just called, and she's home sick today.
Monday, March 24, 2008
I Almost Was Caught
For a two or three year period starting in 2002, I saw many different "providers," as they're called here in Seattle. My wife and I had not been married very long when we started to have kids. We were in our mid to late 30s when we were married, and she had never been married before (I had). She had quite a hard adjustment living with just one other person when we started adding kids to the mix, and during this time our intimacy (not just our sex lives) really started to dry up. In my first marriage, I had become used to having sex four or five times a week, even when we were fighting. At times, it would be adventurous sex (in public, with one of her girlfriends, bondage, etc.). I knew sex wasn't as much a priority for my new wife, but she is such a beautiful, wonderful, great person, I thought I could handle it. I did handle it until intimacy became nonexistent.
Since I was in college, I would go to strip clubs every now and then. My first wife would go with me or pick up a wad of $1 bills for when I would go with friends. My new wife had an issue with that, so I stopped going as often, and I wouldn't tell her when I'd go. I liked strip clubs in that you could get a good looking woman to feel you up, but then you get all worked up with no release. Occasionally, you would find a stripper who would jerk you off in a dark corner or the VIP room, but eventually those strippers or clubs would get busted.
One day, I decided to call on an ad I saw in the back of the local weekly. It advertised a New Age "massage" and Tantra experience. It is still to this day one of the most sensual experiences I have ever had. There was no intercourse or oral, it was just a beautiful woman, in a warm candlelit room, with New Age music, rubbing you down, and giving you a hand finish. I had found a new way to wind down from a very stressful job and cold marriage. An hour with this experience was much less expensive than an hour in a strip club, and you were able to get off as well.
Along the way, I also discovered a local resource here in Seattle that rated providers and what they did, what they charged, how good it was, etc. I had to learn a coded language, but it was a good way to not get ripped off. Some of the ads in the back of the weekly were basically streetwalkers trying to scam guys. It happened to me once. With the review website, I was now able to hear from hobbyists who had reviewed girls, and they were safe. As I became a regular with the New Age massage (called FBSM in the code, full body sensual massage), the girls came to know me and more things came on the menu specifically French (code for oral). One girl I regularly saw gave a great massage since she was trained as a legit massage therapist. The more I saw her, the more we became friends, and the more we would do. On my third visit, she had me sit up on the bed, then she would turn around, pour oil down her back and the crack of her ass, and have me hump between her ass cheeks (called Italian in the code). Eventually, we wound up having full on intercourse. Our last couple of times together, she didn't charge me. We stayed in touch after she retired until she moved across the country.
I did try full service escorts (code for escorts that offer intercourse), but the FBSM girls offered more of the intimacy I was craving. One full service escort was very much the girlfriend experience that many guys crave. She was knock down beautiful, and she knew what guys like me were looking for. Every time she saw you, she acted like she was the girlfriend you had been apart from for a long time. She eventually retired.
I don't know how much I spent for that period of time, but it was a lot. Seattle is known for having reasonable prices for escorts compared to other cities, so it was definitely cheaper than hanging in the strip clubs. My wife eventually noticed we weren't catching up on our bills as quick as she thought we should, and I almost was caught. I had to do a big tap dance, but I was able to get around it. That was the incident that made me realize how much I still loved my wife and my kids, and how much I didn't want to lose them. My wife and I finally got into counseling and our relationship is the best it's ever been. As our intimacy has deepened, our sex has become more intense as well. I know now that while I was seeing the escorts, I was distancing myself farther and farther from my family. I was willing to settle for little to no sex to save my family, and luckily it never came to that. My wife still does not know.
Since I was in college, I would go to strip clubs every now and then. My first wife would go with me or pick up a wad of $1 bills for when I would go with friends. My new wife had an issue with that, so I stopped going as often, and I wouldn't tell her when I'd go. I liked strip clubs in that you could get a good looking woman to feel you up, but then you get all worked up with no release. Occasionally, you would find a stripper who would jerk you off in a dark corner or the VIP room, but eventually those strippers or clubs would get busted.
One day, I decided to call on an ad I saw in the back of the local weekly. It advertised a New Age "massage" and Tantra experience. It is still to this day one of the most sensual experiences I have ever had. There was no intercourse or oral, it was just a beautiful woman, in a warm candlelit room, with New Age music, rubbing you down, and giving you a hand finish. I had found a new way to wind down from a very stressful job and cold marriage. An hour with this experience was much less expensive than an hour in a strip club, and you were able to get off as well.
Along the way, I also discovered a local resource here in Seattle that rated providers and what they did, what they charged, how good it was, etc. I had to learn a coded language, but it was a good way to not get ripped off. Some of the ads in the back of the weekly were basically streetwalkers trying to scam guys. It happened to me once. With the review website, I was now able to hear from hobbyists who had reviewed girls, and they were safe. As I became a regular with the New Age massage (called FBSM in the code, full body sensual massage), the girls came to know me and more things came on the menu specifically French (code for oral). One girl I regularly saw gave a great massage since she was trained as a legit massage therapist. The more I saw her, the more we became friends, and the more we would do. On my third visit, she had me sit up on the bed, then she would turn around, pour oil down her back and the crack of her ass, and have me hump between her ass cheeks (called Italian in the code). Eventually, we wound up having full on intercourse. Our last couple of times together, she didn't charge me. We stayed in touch after she retired until she moved across the country.
I did try full service escorts (code for escorts that offer intercourse), but the FBSM girls offered more of the intimacy I was craving. One full service escort was very much the girlfriend experience that many guys crave. She was knock down beautiful, and she knew what guys like me were looking for. Every time she saw you, she acted like she was the girlfriend you had been apart from for a long time. She eventually retired.
I don't know how much I spent for that period of time, but it was a lot. Seattle is known for having reasonable prices for escorts compared to other cities, so it was definitely cheaper than hanging in the strip clubs. My wife eventually noticed we weren't catching up on our bills as quick as she thought we should, and I almost was caught. I had to do a big tap dance, but I was able to get around it. That was the incident that made me realize how much I still loved my wife and my kids, and how much I didn't want to lose them. My wife and I finally got into counseling and our relationship is the best it's ever been. As our intimacy has deepened, our sex has become more intense as well. I know now that while I was seeing the escorts, I was distancing myself farther and farther from my family. I was willing to settle for little to no sex to save my family, and luckily it never came to that. My wife still does not know.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I Am a Normal and Charming Guy
I am in a very strange point of my life. I love women. I feel the best when I believe that I am giving women some kind of joy....... physical or emotional. I believe that women that I met and know, want men that are taller, smarter, richer, better looking..........basically anybody except me. I fear rejection. I try to be calm and cool...... but my body language always gives me away & creeps women out some how. I start conversations easily, but I find myself saying too much or confusing women by saying things that they cannot understand or are too deep, for the amount of Vodka-Red Bulls that they have consumed. I get into relationships with intelligent women that sex drives are less than my own and lack real passion. I think I understand women, but have a very hard time communicating with them because of my own internal hangups or awkwardness.
I see escorts because it is a real fantasy come to life, and for a couple of hours, I feel passion, affection and tenderness. All with the intensity that I never find in my real life. These little moments keep me going for the rest of the year and give me something to smile about when I am back home at a bar or nightclub, talking to a woman who thinks she is way too good for me, but gives me her phone number anyway, asks me to call her, and strings me along for a few weeks of random dating. I wonder why I want to be normal and married. I wonder why I should listen to my friends when they tell me that so & so is way out of my league or that I shouldn't be too picky, I'm no catch? I think everyone should be selective and only spend time with people they like being around.
Montreal GFE Escorts are wonderful people that are damaged on the inside........... and I am even more damaged. I like that I can tell her anything truthfully and she has heard or done much worse. To her, my screams are whispers. To her I am a normal and charming guy. If you have not guessed, I am not married nor do I believe in cheating on a LTR GF, but I have no problems calling a escort when I am not in a relationship...........
Yes, we are all pretty much this simple.
I see escorts because it is a real fantasy come to life, and for a couple of hours, I feel passion, affection and tenderness. All with the intensity that I never find in my real life. These little moments keep me going for the rest of the year and give me something to smile about when I am back home at a bar or nightclub, talking to a woman who thinks she is way too good for me, but gives me her phone number anyway, asks me to call her, and strings me along for a few weeks of random dating. I wonder why I want to be normal and married. I wonder why I should listen to my friends when they tell me that so & so is way out of my league or that I shouldn't be too picky, I'm no catch? I think everyone should be selective and only spend time with people they like being around.
Montreal GFE Escorts are wonderful people that are damaged on the inside........... and I am even more damaged. I like that I can tell her anything truthfully and she has heard or done much worse. To her, my screams are whispers. To her I am a normal and charming guy. If you have not guessed, I am not married nor do I believe in cheating on a LTR GF, but I have no problems calling a escort when I am not in a relationship...........
Yes, we are all pretty much this simple.
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