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 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.