He didn’t leave home and head straight to the night club in the avenues outside which he knew he would find a prostitute. “whores” as he had been brought up to think of them, “hoes” as his friends referred to them, “sin” as his church called them. His church. This was a very unchristian thing to be associated with. And yet still he sat there in the car not quite wanting to call over one of the girls he could see waiting for a ride, but at the same time kept just in calling distance of one them by an inexplicable desire for sex.
Inexplicable? Not quite. He’d been exposed to porn rather by accident at his former boarding school. He had opened a door that should have been locked and laid eyes on what should have been secret. That first scene never left his mind: a blonde slim woman, bent over a pool table, her dress pulled up but not removed, & the man thrusting into her from behind as the balls on the table scattered in every direction.
Two years later, while lying awake one night he wondered what masturbation would be like so he gently gripped his penis in one hand and slowly began moving it up and down, not sure what would happen but still knowing that something was supposed to happen. A year earlier, his bunk mate had loudly done the same deed, exclaiming at the end of it that a white milky substance had come flowing out. So now he stroked and waited. The resulting eruption was just that – unexpected and messy. And warm. Unexpectedly warm. Having been wholly unprepared for this he had to wipe it all up with a t shirt that had been lying on the floor next to his bed. Apart from the semen though, there had been a feeling. A feeling of release, an almost euphoric release that flowed through him. It was a new feeling. And so began what can only be described as the progression of a disease.
The frequency of masturbation increased over the years with brief pauses every few months or weeks as the attacks of as religious consciousness freed him from the power of his new addiction. After years, of several days worth of porn hours and a large quantity of megabytes of cellular data spent pouring over porn sites, the euphoric feeling began to fade and something new had to be experienced to get that addictive feeling back.
This was when he met her. Something damaging must have happened to her, she practically took his cock and inserted it into her vagina for him. Either that or he really was that handsome and well endowed. After the willing and conscientious sex became too much work and seemed to require more emotional effort than he wanted to apply, he turned to prostitution. It wasn’t that hard a step to take, but it was immensely difficult. His conscience had attacked him severely after he lost his virginity but the sex itself was uninspiring. He’d been lying on a concret slab outdoors in mild winter, his jeans weren’t all the way down making it all the more uncomfortable and he had to figure out his pivot for thrusting, how fast to go, how deep, all manner of things.
On top of this, somehow the vaginal fluids of this girl had ended up on her nipples, which she had demanded be sucked while they were in the act and it was unbearably bitter. Stuck where he was, they had walked back to the car and waited for the rest of the group to tire of the club to which they had gone and he had regretted the whole affair deeply. But still, her vagina had been warm and wet and had engulfed his manhood in a way that was so entirely new to him that he could not but wonder if it would have been more enjoyable with someone else. Someone slimmer, lighter, more sober. And so here he was, sitting in in a car in the avenues. Looking for someone slim and not heavy, with perky breasts and a cheap vagina. The joys of prostitution were that you could have your pick. At first he was reckless with his choices and unwittingly had screwed a middle aged whore in the semi darkness of his car.
In the three years he’d been sleeping around it hadn’t all been prostitutes. A couple of the women he had had were consensual. Consensual and insatiable. And completely random. But it wasn’t just about the sex. Almost every single time the female whore or friend would pause and express surprise at his size. A couple of times he’d scored free sex where he should have paid simply because the girth and length of his cock was pleasing or intimidating to them. One prostitute had downright refused him and his money because she didn’t need something THAT big going into her vagina. Her usual customers bore smaller packages and this one would stretch things out in ways she wasn’t prepared for.
Tonight would be the last time. This was it. He longed for connectivity. He was tired of skirting the emotional connection to get to the sex. He wanted to be loved and wanted completely. This was the last time, he thought, as he looked down at this girl who just lay there making no sounds and not even looking at him but gazing idly at the back of the passenger seat. She didn’t care what he did to her. She just wanted him to finish. This was the last time. It had to be.
Just a note. This was not written by me. I and a good friend of mine have the habit of sending letters to each other every now and then. Recently he told me he had some secrets he could never share with anyone. Lucky for me he put it all in a brilliantly told story. In my opinion he should be a writer. As for his “secret”, we all have dirty laundry hiding somewhere. I’m still formulating the words to reply to this. I think his secret is exciting 🙂