When I was in my first year of university I was having a conversation with this one chap, I cant remember his name and I think he left after the first year. But anyway we was talking about birds and he was telling me about this bird he pulled one night after buying her shit loads of drinks, a takeaway and fronting the money for the cab home and then after all that he said the sex was shit. I suggested he should have saved the effort and spent all that money on a hooker instead. He got a bit funny with me and started trying to tell me that sleeping with pro’s was wrong and in some way immoral to the unwritten male code of conduct. I tried explaining that surely there was no real moral difference between seducing a bit of a crumpet by blowing a load of dignity and energy as well as nearly a ton of your own money on Bacardi breezers, kebabs and taxi fair, then there was calling the number and seeking the services of one of them seedy flyers you get in telephone boxes. The long and short is, you want to fuck this bird. You have no interest in ever seeing her again. You just like the fact she has a skirt so short you can pretty much see one of her fanny lips protruding out, and because your mate said she was ‘fit’. If anything shagging a hooker is more balanced on the moral compass. You show up both aware that this is a financial agreement based solely on sex. There’s no empty compliments, no exaggerated anecdotes about your mundane life and no lying about how much of a great time you had when texting her the next day. It’s probably going to be one of the more honest sexual encounters you ever have.
Of course it’s not all pretty when it comes to paying for sex. There is obviously the reality that you may be funding human trafficking, exploitation and other community destroying activity. Also from my experience there is something very underwhelming and clinical about the whole experience. The prime example I can think of was on a trip to Amsterdam for my 21st, when my 2 best friends fronted the money for me to share the company with one of the many ladies on offer in the infamous red light district. Seeing as it was being paid for it I thought I’d go for a stereotypical page 3, busty number. The price was a surprisingly low 50 euro, I was then lead through to another room, passing a security room where I said a jolly hello to the lady working in there, stopping finally in a bedroom on the other side of the building. I paid my fee and the bird told me to get naked, so I stripped down launching my clothes all over the place which provoked a hostile response ‘No, No, No!… hang them up!’. I found this odd seeing as things were about to get a lot messier. I couldn’t work out where she was from, but in reality I didn’t really care and seeing as I was paying for this I wanted to get straight down to business instead of stand around naked making pointless small talk. Before we started she laid down the rules ‘you can fondle and play with my tits, just don’t touch my pussy’. I slap on a jonny, notice that I’m pretty flaccid – probably due to the super strength Dutch lager, high grade skunk and the bag of mushrooms I’d consumed that day. Whilst trying to rub myself off she said ‘no don’t worry I’ll do that’. ‘Should think so too. It is my money’ I felt like replying.
So she got me stiff then rubbed some lube on her self, which wasn’t particularly attractive but is expected I suppose when its your job to have your pussy pounded on an hourly basis. Things were all going to an adequate standard, up until one point where she told me to stop because I was fucking her too hard. Pretty disappointing considering she’s meant to be the professional and I was probably only in 3rd gear. After about 15 minutes she reminds me that time is nearly up and should probably think about cumming pretty soon. I’ve never cum during sex in under 40 minutes… ever. But in this instance I was determined to complete the mission, so like a trooper I initiated a finger up the arse, laid back and wanked for England. By the time I was all done, she chucked me some wet wipes to clean myself up, and then she went over to the sink to wash the lube from her cunt. Which again wasn’t the most attractive site to see post orgasm, but considering I was pissed, stoned and tripping my face off, it all felt quite darkly apt.
Now that was more of a tourist’s experience of paying for sex, considering that is on the agenda of things to do when you go to Amsterdam – When in Rome, play with the Romans. Also it was actually my second experience with prostitution and my first experience was A LOT more fucked up. Me and a few mates were celebrating a 19th birthday, and like many 19th birthday celebrations we spent it getting pissed in Wetherspoons. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the evening; We drunk solidly for a few hours, then decided to get a change of scenery, but unfortunately there is very little to do in the town of New Malden after a certain hour. So one of our party suggested we go brassing and said that he knew one above a kebab shop not far from the high street. We all agreed to chip in for our mate seeing as it was his birthday and whilst we were there a few of us, including myself thought we might as well have a go to.
We arrived at the knocking shop and were greeted by a bird who led us through to a reception room, where we were told that there were only 2 girls working that evening, so a couple of us would have to wait. A couple of us left and me and my mate whose birthday it was were lead through to two separate bedrooms. The one I was taken to was the tackiest room I think I’ve ever been present in. 70’s patterned, burgundy wallpaper and a carpet to match. It seemed like the owners were going for a porn set look but failed to realise that those porn films are bleak and uncomfortable to watch.
I was told to wait in the room and was then met by this fairly attractive blonde, eastern European bird, probably in her late twenties, smoking a cigarette. She greeted me with a forced smile and a hello, laid down the price list in her best broken English. I don’t remember the prices for all the services but the list included, a humble massage and handjob, a ‘protected’ blow job (which seemed like a waste of money), or a full on half hour of sex. Obviously I went for the sex. The process was similar to the one I had in Holland only this was a lot more forced and cold. She didn’t make any noise during the sex, there was almost no communication and there was even times when I thought I was going to go limp. I tried to spice things up by fucking her in every position that I knew, but it still didn’t help. She just remained looking bored and like she didn’t really want to be there. By using a similar technique to the one in Amsterdam, I spaffed on her tits, said my goodbyes made my way for the exit where on leaving I got a glimpse of the living room and noticed there was TV’s with a CCTV stream of the bedrooms. This made me have a cheeky, kinky giggle to myself.
On reappearing downstairs I was met by the rest of my party, 2 of which replaced us in going upstairs and by the time we qued and ate our kebab’s, then went down the road to pick up a few more tins they had already finished themselves. We all had a bit of a laugh about the experience, for me it was topped off with one of my friends saying ‘which one did you go for?’ ‘The blonde one’ I replied. ‘haha, yea I shagged that one too’. I left that night with the hollow feeling that I was a bit of a sex junkie, paying a fair bit of money just to get that pheromone hit that sex provides and also the guilty sense that I probably just funded a human trafficking gang and actually felt a bit out of pocket as a result. I think I paid around 60 quid to have sex with a bird who really didn’t want to be there. I worked in the service industry for 4 years and I know what its like to deliver forced smile service to some cunt you don’t like. But I can’t imagine what it must be like if that service is sex and to think I was probably one of her better customers. For that reason I have alot of respect for sex workers.
But what about the real professionals? I mean the birds who live and thrive off their profession, the high class escorts I mean. A few years ago I was obsessed with a website called adultwork.com, which was basically an online directory for independent escorts in your local area. You could browse photo’s and videos of the birds, profiles full of services, quotes on how much they cost and in some cases even their phone numbers to contact them on. I never succumbed to paying the money for a professional escort off that site, mainly because it was just too expensive. From what I saw for a top experience you’d have to part with at least 150 quid, which from my current income I just cant justify spending on sex. For all the thrills I’d get I might as well put that on a horse, then from the winnings I’d definitely spend it on an experienced, busty 30 something, who’d tie me up, hurl abuse at me, then tan my arse but still let me fuck her in every orifice. When looking at the prices, I can totally understand why some women get into escorting. For only a few hours of work, which consists of having sex with people, you can pretty much make enough rent for a nice single bedroom house in zone 2 of London, with enough left over to dick around with. If I was gay I would definitely sign up to an agency, because even when looking at the gay pages you can sell yourself for 100 quid a go. If you enjoy sex so much that you like doing with almost everyone, then why not take advantage of that and make a shit ton of money out of it? I remember a few years back an acquaintance of mine was doing a bit of escorting. Me and a mate were over her house once and a client was due round, and she told us she was getting paid 90 quid for half hour session of anal. At that time I was what I was making that kind of money for a weekends work.
There does still seem to be some stigma about paying for sex. Considering how promiscuous men are it’s hard to wonder why not many of them would admit to paying for it. I can totally understand why someone would. Your wife aint into tying you up and tickling your bollocks with a feather duster whilst you have a banana stuffed up your arse, but for a price there is a woman that will do that for you. I cant see why you cant still love your wife dearly and not get sexual release from other means, especially when it’s done in such confidentiality. There’s also other situations where I can see why people would pay for the company of a woman. If I was away on business in some far from home country, sat in my hotel room at 7pm with nothing to do or nowhere to go I’d definitely look into finding a bird offering services for the night. Yes I could go to down to the hotel bar and attempt to pull a lone looking woman but that runs the risk of too much hard work and crushing disappointment and humiliation. Obviously there is a dark side to paying for sex, but then again there is a dark side to one night stands too. Having a fumble with a curb crawler up against a skip may not be as glamorous as pulling a bird in a club then shagging her in her halls of residence. Yes that crawler probably will just spend that score on smack and that is a bit depressing if you dwell on it, but how do you know that student you’ve just fucked isn’t an emotional, nympho wreck who just needed more male company to reassure herself that she is pretty? The truth is you don’t know, and would you even care if you did? Probably not. The reality is you’re only interested in having sex with them on a one night basis soley so you can feed your own needs. Regardless of the emotional damage you may be inflicting or at the risk of other nasty things like S.T.Ds. And this conveniently leads me on to my next subject…
If like me your sex life consists of having sex with as many women as you possibly can regardless of what their sexual history may be, you too may have had to take a trip to the clinic for careless boys and girls. There’s nothing fun or exciting about the experience but I’m pretty sure the majority of you have had to do it. I’ve been lucky with the majority of my visits and have been enough times to know when not to go – the end of any school holiday is usually a bad time, you might as well be in the paediatric department. But there was one particular trip that was done in the light of one memorable evening and morning after with a good friend of mine, which is the beginning of a light-hearted anecdote in what has been an otherwise, rather bleak, arrogant and lack-luster blog entry.
Last summer I befriended a fellow student. We hit it off right away when we realised how much the two of us loved getting drunk, we hit it off even more when we found out that the two of us were both perverts. Anyway one evening when out on a tiles in town, a lot of booze was drunk and inevitably we ended up back at hers where even more booze was drunk. We sat up in her kitchen chatting, the conversation stopped when she polished off the remainder of a bottle of gin into a glass, mixed it with juice, downed the lot, gave me ‘the look’ followed by the word ‘bedroom’. We had a typical drunken fumble that was followed by me giving her an arse walloping that seemed to go on for ages which eventually had my hand hurting so much that we had no choice but to start fucking again. Unfortunately we had used the last condom but like one does when one is pissed we had that ‘fuck it’ mentality and just went in bareback. I mean what are 2 pissed, horny, students supposed to do? Just not have sex? Not going to happen. So we fucked again till we passed out. I then remember waking up early in the morning and waking her up with a sex alarm clock. The rest of the morning was really rather quaint. We sat about nursing our hangovers; I was especially nursing my swelling hand which seemed to be more bruised then her arse. She cooked me breakfast, I then realised I had plans so decided to leave. Whilst collecting my things from her room she got a phone call that sounded pretty formal. I remember her telling me that she had just been to a job interview so assumed it was for that. I carried on collecting my things when her conversation ended ‘…ok thanks for calling, goodbye’ She looked up at me ‘Who was that?’ I asked ‘I’ve got Chlamydia’ she replied. It was the clinic on the phone. I don’t remember what my exact response was but considering the comic timing of the phone call I like to recall that the two of us laughed. Even on the way out of the building there was still some chuckle worthy moments. ‘So what are you doing with your day?’ I asked on my way out the door, ‘Well, going to the clinic I guess’ I don’t know why but that still makes me laugh. We still keep in close contact through the internet and we’ll be seeing each other again in the summer, when hopefully we’ll have a few more sex adventures that are more about pushing the boundaries of kink… Not just one about catching the clap off her.
Have I learnt from my mistakes with unprotected sex. No. I still am incredibly careless with girls I really shouldn’t be careless with. But I’m young and I’m meant to be stupid. I don’t condone unprotected sex and I do rubber up when I get the opportunity too,. The thing is unprotected sex is a bit like drinking and driving. Society tells you its wrong and it’s right to do so, because it is dangerous and can hurt other people other then yourself. But sometimes you just have to do it and 9 times out of 10 you are usually alright. I just hope I’ll grow up before my luck runs out.
Play me out Mozzer…