Prostitution For The Very First Time

I lay there with all the joy of a nihilist German as a prostitute’s saggy wrinkly breasts smashed into my face like battering rams. What an abysmal sight, what an abysmal way of trying to experience sex for the first time. But you can’t fault the young me, I was still trying to reach the land of the un-virgined, and I was routinely failing. I remember lying there underneath a prostitute who upped the ante in the definition of what it was to be saggy, quietly wondering whether I did anything horrendous in my past life like vote for Margaret Thatcher. It was not a pretty sight or a pleasant feeling, but for you to get the whole grasp of the events I will start from the beginning of this ordeal.

The “massage parlour” hid on a dark wet street of Manchester with enough of it covered so those less inclined to its seedy ways ignored it, but it showed enough leg to be seen by those who craved its carnality. A light Manchester drizzle that never ended pattered onto the city and onto my face as I stood in front the entrance, a menacing metal door that was fighting a losing battle to rust. I looked down both sides of the street to see if anyone was around to condemn me with judgement. All I could see was darkness struggling to extinguish the flickering orange street lights. I took a deep breath and I pressed the buzzer. After a few seconds a sententious voice answered.

“Yes?”

The voice evoked so much lust that I could have had my way with just the buzzer itself.

“Um. I’d like to come in,” I meekly said.

“Why?” the buzzer alluringly teased.

“um.” I hesitated, pangs of guilt of what I was going to do crept through my entire body, but I managed to stick to my guns, and I naturally did not want to disappoint the buzzer.

“Girls!” I boomed with a confidence that most would class as timid.

The door buzzed and I walked in.

I entered a small dark corridor to come across a reception that was lit by purple neon lights. Hardcore pornography played on a small television in the corner of the room. It was an old school porno flick because of the excessive amounts of pubic hair. Excessive that it even censored some of the parts of the action.

“Hello, so what would you be looking to enjoy today?” a beautiful blonde girl behind the reception desk said. Well, I thought she was blonde, there is only so much colour you can distinguish in purple neon light. I thought this to be a positive sign as she was stunning, so I quietly prayed to whatever deity would hear that she would be the one.

“Um, what do you have?” I was able to say in an octave higher than normal.

“Well…..” she said as she put the end of a pen in her moist pouty lips.

“We have Thai if you fancy that? She’s just about to finish up with a client so you’d only have to wait for a few minutes.”

I decided that I’d ask her to see if she was available but all that came out instead was “ok”. There was also one other person waiting in the reception on a couch, and the only free seat was next to him. This person was a fat middle aged man who so clearly shaved his head in anger over the fact he was going bald. I couldn’t help but think that his brow would find a better home on an Easter Island statue.He gave me one look, and I could tell he wanted to do something which I did not, small talk.

“Alright mate. So who have you gone for?” he smiled and slurred out with a gruff Yorkshire accent.

“Um. The Thai bird,” I said abruptly without looking at him, hoping he got the hint that I was in no mood for conversation.

“Ooooh, her, have you had her before?”

“Um. No. First time here.”

“Really? Fucking hell, I remember my first time here. About ten year back, pissed as a fucking fart. Was a different owner back then, not as a smooth operation as they got now.”

“Oh.”

“And…where the fuck was I. Ah yes, I was pissed as a fucking fart, come in staggering all over the place and slam my money on the table at reception. Get to see this nice little blonde number. Go in the room, and me being absolutely fucking legless, I give her an extra hundred so I can fucking fuck her without a johnny. Oh she was a fucking screamer, fucking loved every minute of it. I pounded her like a fucking jack hammer. I really pounded her.”

“Oh.”

“Pounded her like there was no tomorrow.”

“Um.”

“You should have been there to see the fucking levels of fucking pounding I pounded.”

“Really.”

“Aye, that’s how I caught herpes though…..herpes won’t go you know.”

He sat there staring at me, waiting for my response, waiting for me to comment in awe of his sexual prowess and talents in catching herpes. What do you say to someone like that? I smiled meekly and then quickly moved my gaze to the old-school pornography on the grainy screen. I could tell he was still looking at me, wanting more for a validation, but like most people I really didn’t want to talk about a fat old bloke’s herpes riddled cock.

“Cunt,” I heard him utter. Being British and middle class I did the best thing I could possibly do in that situation, I pretended to not of heard and hope upon hope that there would be no conflict. I wasn’t a fighter, hell I wasn’t even a lover, so the last thing I wanted to do was do the man dance with someone who evolution so clearly forgot. Luckily a few seconds later the receptionist called me over.

“She’s ready now, room 3.”

I walked through some bead curtains to a corridor which that was surprisingly decorated with tasteful modern art. A different fat middle aged bald man left room 3, but this one looked content. As he squeezed by me he gave me a pat on the shoulder, a thumbs up, and a cheeky wink. I looked at where he put his hand on my shoulder to see a glistening wet mark, all I could do was grimace and shudder. I stood outside the door, took a deep breath, and then that’s when I felt doubts about going through with the act. I weighed up the cons, about how this wasn’t the way I wanted to experience sex, how I might somehow catch a STD, how I was spending money which I didn’t have, and how I really just wanted to be with someone I actually cared about. Then I realised I was an alcoholic social retard, so finding a girlfriend any time soon was unlikely, and I had to have sex otherwise the shame would be unbearable if I didn’t break this curse. I opened the door and walked through.

There stood the Thai prostitute. The neon light and darkness hid any imperfections of the skin, but it couldn’t hide the fact that cellulite had more than colonised every part of her body. She wore a black thong that was swallowed up into her vagina and hid under her gut, and the black bra she wore was fighting to survive under the weight of her gargantuan breasts. She certainly wasn’t the dainty Thai girl that I was expecting. As soon as she opened her mouth, the expectation was shattered further.

“Alright lovey,” she said in a cockney accent with enough gravel to pave a driveway. I stood there in shock, but being the polite Englishman I was I had to respond cordially.

“Yes, thank you.”

I stood there, unsure of what to do, whether I should run screaming out into the concrete jungle or stick to the plan. Before I could decide the Thai prostitute ordered me onto the bed.

“Take your clothes off lovey and get on the bed.” I stood there for a second, still in shock with the realisation this short stocky Thai girl belonged more in a Guy Ritchie film than a “massage parlour”. Being in complete dread and fear all I could do was do as I was ordered and I quickly took my clothes of and jumped on the massage bed face down.

“Ooooh, ain’t you a pretty one!” I heard her grunt before she slapped and squeezed one of my bottom cheeks. Then I heard her cough, her throat was thick with phlegm which I could only assume came from at least a 20 a day smoking habit, cigarettes that is. She then grabbed me and turned me over as if I was made of only feathers. With surprising ease she pulled her self onto the massage bed. The bed whimpered and creaked in pain from her body weight, I could almost hear it beg for her to stop as she crawled her way up to straddle my stomach. The Thai prostitute then began to rub her tits on my face, almost suffocating me in the process, something which at that moment of time I would of welcomed.

“Oooh yeah lovey, you like that don’t you,” she tried to say with seduction after another phlegmy cough. The breast smothering stopped and she moved back to undo her bra with a finesse you’d associate with a drunken orang-utan. That was when the true scope of my situation hit me.

There lay before me two gigantic breasts that must of sagged down at least a foot. I gaped in absolute horror, as these two giant mammary glands like pendulums that swung in different directions and to a different rhythm. Even the pink neon light couldn’t hide the wrinkly stretch marks that lined the side of these breasts like the zig zaggedness of a Chinese hand fan.

“Oh yeah lovey, I’ve been a bad girl.” She gave her chest a shake and than purposefully moved up and down so the swinging goliaths decided to changed their trajectory to that of my face. That was when one breast smacked right into my left eye, and all I could do was recoil in terror. When I turned back to see that the other breast was starting its attack, and the other  was flying back into formation for another assault. The onslaught had only began, and with each smack of the tit on my face a little extra part of me died.

Was I suppose to actually enjoy this? Was I flaccid because of my sexual paranoia? Now that I think about it I know quite simply that this prostitute was a car crash of a woman, but back then I actually started to think it was my own fault that I wasn’t ready and raging to pound away.

So there I lay in a massage parlour, feeling numb and getting assaulted by a fat woman’s tits. That was when she put her hand between my legs and grabbed my smaller friend who was quite clearly not in the mood for playing.

“What’s wrong lovey? You on coke or something?”

“Er, yeah.”

She got up off the massage table, I was finally saved from an attack that would of even left the Great Wall of China in ruins. I quickly jumped off the bed as well and put my clothes on. I saw in her face a look of surprise, but that quickly changed to one of caring.

“You shouldn’t do that stuff lovey. It ain’t good.”

“Yeah, I know. Yeah.”

I then left the room, and headed into the reception to pay for this self-esteem murdering experience, but she wasn’t there. I felt hot with shame and disgust, sweat began to pour all over my face trying in vain to cool me down. Then that’s when I saw still sitting down was the herpes ridden middle aged man, and he still wanted to talk.

“Fucking hell mate! I heard screams of some girl getting the shit pounded out of her! I bet that was you wasn’t it?” he said with a sleazy grin.

I felt a switch flip inside me, and I calmly walked up to him, stuck my face into his, and with a coldness that could freeze water I said “Shut the fuck up mate or I will rip your fucking throat out.” I remember wanting him to stand up to the challenge, I wanted him to swing at me, as I was more than ready to turn my frustrations into fists with punches that were thirsty for blood. Instead he turned his face downward in subjugation, so I left it and waited to pay.

The receptionist suddenly appeared, so I quickly paid the £40 and left still shaking with adrenaline.

This again was another failed attempt of sex that left me with shame that tried to swallow every good part of me like a vortex. I was made to feel worthless when I was growing up, that my very being wasn’t even fit to enjoy the air that others breathed, and now what I thought would bring me some solace was adding more salt to my still fresh wounds that many had given me. How many more attempts would it take before I simply lost it? It started to feel like I would I crack before I would ever become intimate, and that I would simply accept that I was far to damaged to even consider being with another. Fortunately the dices rolled had a different plan and they led me to a little place called Hong Kong. A Hong Kong prostitute would finally bring me what I sought, but then she would introduce me to a whole new world of insecurities and problems.

The Birth Of Sexual Paranoia

 After the initial catastrophe, my sexual coming of age that I had always envisaged whilst admiring hours upon hours of interracial gang bang porn didn’t go to plan. Anxiety and paranoia would soon begin to torment my mind like how kids jacked up on sugar do to plane passengers. I had acquired erectile dysfunction before I even had sex, and it would take me a whole year before I would pop my cherry.

Can you imagine it, this dream, this reason for existence, all ruined because the thing most close to you, your mind, is more than uncooperative. I was 18, horny, attractive, healthy, and I was better endowed than most…. BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT for some reason the fucker who lives in my skull didn’t want me to get laid. He’d prefer me to go home and cry wank myself to sleep every night. He preferred that I embarrass myself in front of many a voluptuous girls who only wanted a bit o’ cock. God, the amount of terrible excuses I had to make just when it was getting rather steamy. Always as soon as the my underwear dropped.

“I can’t, I fancy someone else!”

“I can’t, you’ve got a boyfriend!”

“I’ve got a cramp!”

“These are not the droids you are looking for!”

 I will always remember the look of utter confusion on their faces as I got up, dressed, and then ran out the door like a bat out of hell.

 This case of sexual paranoia didn’t immediately happen after the first time which I should of lost my virginity. This paranoia decided to solidify after the second time that “I should of lost my virginity”, and further entrenched itself after numerous failed attempts of coitus. My dear reader, this was no singular event, this was going to be a DVD box set of my self esteem dis-membering itself. The sequel starts with a girl who lived in the same student halls as me in my first year.

 This girl was 5 years older than me, spoke with a seductive posh English accent, would constantly show her beautiful fake boobs off by being scantily clad, and possessed a tanned body so lithe and curved in the right places that it would of shamed a hour glass jar. In pure spectacular essence this girl looked like a sultry porn star who could devour galaxies of cocks. This was the type of girl that I spent many a year as a teenager jacking off to on the internet. This was the optimum of what I wanted in life, what I desired. Her name was Natalie.

 Nearly fulfilling this dream was going to happen about a month after the initial débâcle of trying to knock boots. I had practically forgotten all about that first horrible horrible incident, so I was again back at it, getting incredibly drunk and hoping the words I slurred out at girls in clubs would somehow make sense and would impress them. Sometimes I didn’t even bother with the words and simply grabbed a girl to kiss, which was surprisingly successful, but then they’d selfishly expect you to do something like talk. They of course did not take into consideration that I was beyond the capability of coherent language. They’d look their glistening big beautiful eyes into mine and I would say…..

 “Wats ya ame?”

“It’s Sarah, how about yours?”

“Wats ya ame?”

“You just asked me that.”

“Oh. um. Wats ya ame?”

 I’d usually disappear after that, as drunk I may have been, but I could tell that the girl’s attitude had suddenly changed to one of “Fuck off or I am going to fuck your arse with a broken bottle”, so I ‘d wonder off and try to find some other girl who wasn’t so demanding.

 So there I was, at a club that I fondly remember as the Queen of Tarts. I had ended up heading to this club with Natalie and a friend of hers. I won’t bore you with the exact details of how I seduced this nymph, but basically all it took was for me to give her some attention, and then give said attention to other girls. Natalie dragged me away from this other girl who I had started to grind without rhythm, and she then shoved her tongue down my throat. It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.

 Anyhow I was practically forced back to hers for what I would assume to be some penetrative hip gyrating action, now this was the second most romantic thing that has ever happened to me. When I got to her flat it was slobbery drunk kissing and dry humping each other’s leg. We then realised that such actions weren’t exactly futile so we decided to try to rip each other’s clothes off. I fondly remember she would occasionally grab my cock through my jeans and giggle. She then took her top off and it felt like I had just discovered the Holy Grail, and I was going to fuck the shit out of it. More items of my clothing came off, and then we were soon just in our underwear. Her knickers fell to the floor with a grace you could only associate with a Russian ballet performance. Soon it was my turn to pull mine off…….that was when……..that was when…………………………

 THAT WAS WHEN! THAT FUCKING WAS FUCKING WHEN!!!!!!!!!……for fuck sake…..seriously for fucking fuckety fuck sake……. I am fucking getting so fucking angry writing this and fucking thinking about this. Anyhow back to the story…..

 That was when I started to think “man, I am so glad it isn’t happening like last time!” Then my next thought was “She is so fucking hot! Man, I’d die if it happened like last time…..” then I got a bit scared and tragically thought “what happens if it did happen like last time?” then that was when paranoia started to dig it’s horribly cruel and menacing claws into my mind. Rather than concentrate on the fact that my dream had actually come true, to have a naked girl that looked like a porn star want you then and there to defile her in every way possible, I kept on thinking “oh shit what happens if it happens like last time,” with each time this thought excreted into my mind it made me feel more and more anxious. Then the inevitable happened and I lost wood, and me being in my underwear she noticed.

 I forgot what excuse I used, it’s irrelevant. All I remember is that I got out of there fast, and I never had a chance with her again. I am quite positively sure I died a little bit that day, to have your dream so close and to have it yanked away because you’re too neurotic. I had now truly lost my mojo, and I after that day my sexual confidence was but an empty ghost town populated by tumble weeds. My overall confidence plummeted as well, now I went for those of the opposite sex who, how should we say, who weren’t the most attractive. What made it worse is that I’d go back to theirs and the sexual paranoia would strike again and again, and this made me more and more of an anxious mess. I thought I was this guy who was destined to be a chronic masturbator till the day I died. The same old story of not getting it up for not so attractive women occurred for the rest of my first year at university. When on my down days suicide seemed more and more like a realistic option, as life became that much more pointless without the possibility of sex. This was the case until I decided to turn to prostitution, but Sod’s Law being the CUNT that it is meant that was going to go terribly wrong in spectacular fashion as well!

Freud Got It Wrong

 Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, why the fuck did I think of my mum!? The thought repeated through out my head as I repeatedly yanked at a frightened penis. How does one find himself in a girl’s bathroom, in near brink of tears, trying to resuscitate flaccid genitals? Well if you’re me, such situations come from one of those numerous spanners that the universe so graciously throws into my cogs. At the age of 18, this was suppose to be my first experience of sex.

I was at a standard student night, cheap booze, shit music, and screaming drunk girls. During this blurry mess, against all odds, I somehow caught the attention of someone from the female persuasion. So there I was talking to a girl with a charm that you’d associate with a stamp collecting Daily Mail reader.

“What university do you go to?”

“What do you study?”

Her replies were more or less “raaaawr, fucking bitches. Who! WHO. I am beautiful. Bitches.” She was ever so drunk. I did not mind that she was quite inebriated, I was just grateful that someone was paying me attention. Also it was a girl who some may say was attractive, crazy talk, yes. It wasn’t like I was taking advantage, although I did feel like a lion taking down a paraplegic antelope.

So there we were, forcing tongues down in each others throats, groping aimlessly, falling into those around us, and occasionally rolling around on a sticky alcohol ridden floor. To many this was a degrading and a failed act of human intimacy, but I’d like to think there is a small minority who gawked in titillation and took one back to the wank bank.

After such inept fumblings and kisses, we decided to leave with great haste. Drunken cause and affect were playing into my favour, she wanted me to go back to hers. The ride back, well, I can’t remember it, so I will fill the blanks with a realistic portrayal of the events. In the said vehicle, we debated vehemently about how psychology and science is putting an irreparable dent in existentialist philosophies. Such research is proving that we are far more interconnected and dependent on each other than we would like to think. Total freedom is an illusion. We are simply squidgy bits of matter and energy that react to external forces. Due to the slow speed of our brain synapse, everything we feel, everything we see, everything we experience has already happened, so we can never act out in independence. As Tom Wolfe would put it with such masterful grace, we are quite simply watching a film. She of course obtusely opposed such views, her being a harlot of Kierkegaard.

We had finally reached my virgin El Dorado. Rather than jump into the x-rated trauma immediately, this drunken wench and myself proceeded to watch Titantic. Not in the most romantic sense, as the tipper or two too many that we consumed had prevented any meaningful connection with this masterful…..I kid, it’s a pile of shite, so emotional connection was not possible with this film, and that’s why we laughed in many an inappropriate scene. In the penultimate scene, we found ourselves laughing till our sides hurt at people falling to their deaths. Maybe I should of took this as an omen of what was to come, though not one to understand omens and believe them, I don’t think it would of mattered.  

Finally the cold abyss had taken the boy wonder protagonist as a victim with its icy clutches. this of course meant that it was time to mack it like any virgin boy could, with a lot of fumbling and aimless thrusting. We headed to her bedroom.

Kissing ensued, kissing with saliva going everywhere. After much slurping and the occasional wiping of the mouth, I upped the ante with a hand heading to where no virgin hand had ever headed before. Not even hours upon hours of perverted internet pornography could prepare me for the confusion that ensued. “I swear the hole was here, what the fuck?” Trying to put a finger into the pelvis doesn’t stimulate arousal. But due to my ever resilient nature I prevailed, I went lower and discovered moist wet lips that were ready to greet my finger with  welcome. Moans followed, whether real or not, I couldn’t of cared less, I was making a girl moan with my fucking hand!

This sense of immense gratification and masculine purpose began to diminish, and I knew more would be required, after all, women are ever wanting ravenous beasts that constantly want more and more and more and more and more and more and you get the point. With my supreme intellect that was honed by my mother and father’s DNA, I decided to head down south with the ole’ tongue. I was greeted by a cheerful pubic mound. The last time I saw a vagina in real life was when I was 7 years old, this was when my next door neighbour (who was 9) flashed me her then hairless vagina, I now found myself with the same amount of awe and surprise. I immediately set about with a strategy of carpet bombing with my tongue, I was going to beat this vagina into submission. I went for every nook and cranny with fervour, looking like a starved lion feeding on his prey .

Now if I could go back in time to meet my 18 year old self again, I would pat him on his back and say “you get an A for effort mate.”

After a lot of intermittent moans of pleasure, polite moans, and frustrated moans, the damsel pulled me up as she was keen for some penetration from the virgin stud, or keen to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Myself being quite an agreeable person I happily complied. She could see I wasn’t particularly in a full state of arousal, so she proceeded to use her feet to try to get things going, a clear sign of enjoyment and enthusiasm in my books. Beggars can’t be choosers. I reached the desirable level and I then softly kissed her. It was about to happen, the fucking excitement, the fucking, the cumming, the achievement of what it was to be a fucking man. So I lined my self up, and looked up into her eyes. The whole night I hadn’t properly looked into her eyes, I didn’t tried to see her for what she was. So there I lay on top of her gazing into her beautiful brown eyes………that is when she reminded me of my mother.

“Mr Zulu! What’s happening? MR ZULU! I said fire phasers! Set to kill! Set to destroy! What is going on Mr Zulu!?”

“Captain, phasers are malfunctioning sir. They just aren’t working!”

“Scotty, can you identify the problem? WE NEED phasers at full power right now!”

“Cap’in e’y'ethin is in orda cap’in! I can’t seem to find the proablem cap’in!”

“Quick, Mr Chekov, take us out of here! Warp 9!”

“I need to go to the toilet.” I leapt up and ran to the toilet. That is where I found myself in shame, in a near state of tears, staring with venomous hate at a flaccid penis. This was a sorry sight, if you were to look up the definition of pathetic you would of seen me sniffling naked with my flaccid penis in my hand.

 Out of desperation I tried to think up the kinkiest nastiest things I could conjure to resurrect my friend. Twins, nuns, Margaret Thatcher sexually exploiting the Poll tax rioters, all sorts of utterly depraved fantasies that one would only confess to a Priest on their death bed. I eventually gave up. My penis was not going to rise up as the rightful King of Pussonia, it was going to stay a scared and shrivelled peasant that night.

I must have been in there for some time, as when I eventually mustered up the courage to leave the bathroom she had fallen asleep. So I quickly skulked away into the middle of the night.

Back home in my bed, I hugged my legs with the cold sense of defeat. I felt demoralised, lonely, pathetic, angry, and depressed. It seemed like life wasn’t all too keen on me. But hey, there was one small silver lining that I could take away with me, I had proved the Oedipus theory wrong.