Paying for pleasure: Update
You’ll have noticed that prostitution has been on my mind a lot recently, Dear Reader. I’ve mused on my own willingness to prostitute myself. Channel 4 broadcast the insightful 2 part documentary, Love For Sale. And as I’ve not had my cock wrapped in anything more animated than my fist this year, the chance to have a night away from home has provided the opportunity to have a damn good fuck for cash.
I’d spent a little time perusing those in the right geographical area offering their services (and their bodies) on Adult Work, and had found a couple of women who offered more than a little appeal.
The first wasn’t in the first flushes of youth but was in stunning shape for someone her age, and amongst her public photo gallery were plenty of shots of her in delicious rubber. It ranged from the hardcore gimp suit and gasmask (not really to my taste) to the glamorous and kinky (definitely to my taste). Her prices were a little high, but she offered in-calls and out-calls, so flexibility was on her side.
The second was in her late 30s, and unusually her profile showed her face … and her cunt. She reminded me a little of Sarah, though blonde, with bigger tits, and not so obviously pronounced labia. She was more reasonably priced, and as she mentioned strap-on sex amongst her services, she was my first choice.
The time for booking accommodation for the weekend training course approached, and I was offered a lift to the venue. In the circumstance it was a difficult offer to decline. Not having my own car wasn’t particularly prohibitive – I wasn’t anticipating curb crawling, or employing a street walker – out calls were my preferred option, especially if I had access to a room in a reasonably sized, impersonal hotel, where no one would pay any heed to a single woman with no luggage breezing through reception, and then leaving an hour or so later.
And then it all fell apart. I’m booking 4 rooms at the University, announced my fellow trainee. Bob, Andy and Sid want to keep things cheap, the training is on campus, and as I’m an alumni I can get us a discount rate. You don’t mind sharing a room with Bob, do you?
Yes I fucking do mind sharing a room with Bob. He’s weird – weirder than me – and painfully difficult to have a conversation with. And that’s not considering the fact that staying in student accommodation is going to make a visiting hooker a) stand out like a sore cock and b) I dare say a little uneasy about taking the booking for fear of having her time wasted or getting caught up in some frat-house style nightmare.
Well that put pay to the out-calls option. Ok, I can go with visiting an escort at her flat. I’d feel a little more vulnerable I guess, but having watched Love For Sale I feel that if I book through an agency that would add a little security for all concerned.
Then We’re all going out for a curry with some of the other folk on the course. You’re up for that, aren’t you?
Bollocks! Shit! Fuck!
My last hope of convenient sex disappeared down the drain.
So I’m sorry to disappoint all those who were looking forward to reading of my most needed shag ever, but it looks like I’m not going to enjoy a fuck any time soon, nor taste the delights (and juices) of a prostitute in he foreseeable future. I’ll just have to make do with a wank in the shower. Assuming they’re not comunal these days.