33 Days, 33 Posts: Epilogue - What I Have (Not) Learned

Well. Here I am. I didn't get around to writing this yesterday. Unfortunately, it wasn't because I was going buck-wild but rather because I'm suffering from a pinched nerve that makes it really hard to sleep, and thus am not as well-rested as I should be.

I'm not really sure that I learned anything from this. At least, not anything constructive or useful. Certainly I can do This Thing where I don't orgasm for some set period of time. But hey, I just turned 39. That's not the news story it was 20 years ago. I certainly learned that it doesn't diminish the amount I think about sex. Predictably-enough, it boosted it pretty heavily. If anything, I learned that I'm prone to self-sabotage in a big, big way. If I weren't reporting in daily, I never would have made it a week.

Of course, I went out and got laid. I made a valiant effort to pick someone up through Craigslist, but it didn't pan out. Instead, I went to a provider I'd seen before, one that I knew I could count on for a good session. It wasn't the mind-blowing experience I'd had the first time with her (first times are always more exciting, I guess), but it was worth the expenditure. And boy did I spend... she was clearly impressed with the forcefulness of my orgasm, and the quantity of DNA left behind. I also squeezed out a couple on my own, later. I had tried to find something late-night on CL, but no dice. Not to worry, I'm still one of my best lovers.

Unfortunately, without this driving my posting, I fear I may drop off drastically again, and I don't want that. But there is so little new in my life, I'm going to eventually run out of past experiences to mine. Oh well, I'll burn that bridge once I've crossed it. I have some stuff I can still draw upon that should hopefully entertain, at least over the next few days.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 31 - So Close, So Far

I'm in a weird state (and I ain't just talkin' about California! *rimshot*). Weird dualities-- I'm keenly-focused on how badly I want to rip my jeans off and wank myself until there are no more juices left to come out, yet at the same time I feel no need to do so. I'm anxious to cruise Craigslist and find a man or a TV or any consenting human to suck me until only dust remains, but I'm supremely confident that I'll manage through the next two days.

(And to clarify, I meant 33 complete days. That means lasting until past midnight on the 2nd. Or more specifically, making it until the 3rd, my birthday.)

I'm giving a lot of thought to how I want to deal with Saturday. I was chatting with one of my favorite bloggers this afternoon, who seemed to think I shouldn't go immediately for the commercial route, that I should try pulling. Well and good, but I don't have the confidence in my chances for success. Believe it or not, I'm cripplingly shy in person. I'm crap at being suave in bars, because I'm crap being suave anywhere. It doesn't help that I have more self-esteem issues around weight (I'm not obese, but I'm big-enough to put a lot of women off), and while I am currently losing weight at a steady pace, I'm not going to be Brad Pitt by Saturday. Hell, I'm not even going to be Paul Giamatti by then. (Though at least I'm a lot taller than he is.) So while I obviously don't have to choose a course of action right this minute, come Saturday (heh heh heh... I said "come") I'll have to decide. Because I don't want my first release to be of the manual-override variety. I'll have plenty of time for that, later. (And to my chat-partner, I haven't forgotten my promise of before-and-after pictures!)

I don't have any real issues of guilt or regret over commercial sex, like I did at first. I try very hard to see people who at least appear to be self-representing, that aren't being controlled by a pimp or exploited in an Asian massage-parlor setting. So guilt isn't the issue. More like longevity, on two levels: on the more base level, I may want more than just an hour. I've got a lot of fluid to move. On the more enlightened level, there's always that one-in-a-hundred chance that I might hit it off really well with the pick-up. It's happened to me before, after all. One thing that's certain: that first orgasm is going to involve another person.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 18 - Pick a Card

Oh boy, but today was hard. In both senses of the word.

Fever having broke, my energy and appetite(s) were back. As it happened, I had a doctor's appointment already today, a check-up on a weight-monitoring program they have me on (lost 6 pounds in the last four weeks!). They gave me a clean bill of health flu-wise, and told me that I needed to be eating more protein in my diet (no wisecracks from the peanut gallery... especially Gracie and BBG). Too much of the weight was from lean body mass, not enough from fat. But they said it was better than not having lost any weight at all!

It felt good to have an appetite for real food again. Last week's local weekly alt-paper (the Metro) had a cover story on the local Koreatown district that also featured a round-up of several restaurants. I'd been dying to try them out, since Korean is one of my favorite cuisines.

But other appetites came back with a vengeance, as well. And I'd have buckled, too, except that I fell back on an old decision-making trick. See, I often know that when I'm considering going to see an escort, that it's the wrong thing to do, at least at the time. Maybe money is tight, maybe I know deep-down that my real issues-of-the-moment are loneliness, things that an hour with a sex worker won't help. But I'm an addict, see, so just knowing that it's "wrong" isn't enough. So I let the cards tell me. No, not Tarot. Just ordinary cards.

I shuffle the deck, and I decide on a color. Usually, I choose red in honor of the reddish-pink I'm considering paying to see. I cut, and I take the top three. If the majority are red, I decide I'm going to go ahead and do it. If I haven't already, I find someone I'm interested in seeing. Usually, there are 2-4 that catch my eye, so I use the deck again. I try to start with either exactly two or four. I do the same basic thing, assigning colors to the people (or to pairs when there are four) and choose by the majority. Repeat if necessary. I don't always go this route, sometimes I'm absolutely sure of myself, and my reasons for choosing to go the commercial route and I just do it. But today, I was torn between keeping to my goal, or getting my ashes hauled.

Fortunately for my vow, it wasn't in the cards.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 4 - It Starts Getting (A Little) Easier

I think I'll be getting through until I fall asleep, without any close-calls like I had yesterday, reading new blogs and watching videos. The reason I feel more confident, is that today I passed on probably the most tempting Redbook/Craigslist ad I've seen in years. A black woman of English/Scottish origin... according to Redbook, an almost perfect 10 rating and not a smoker. Tall, too. My perfect package: tall, exotic, GFE but not a smoker, all wrapped in an English accent.

But I chose to stick to my guns. And maybe it's just because I've been busier today than the last three days, but I'm not chomping at the bit like I was last night.

However I am, to be fair, much more acutely aware of my balls than usual. They seem more... sensitive... surely just my imagination.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 2 - OK, This Is In Fact Going to be Tough

Oh boy. I was hasty in being so flippant yesterday. Today was a whole different story. Not even 48 hours since the last time I wanked, and I was almost ready to say to hell with it. I can't do that-- give up in just two days. Twelve, maybe, or even twenty. But not just two. My own fault... I meant to go and get at least a blowjob on Sunday, before embarking on this, so that I had the memory to rest on. But I didn't, I jerked off instead, and that wasn't nearly as satisfying.

And today's trials are my own fault, of course. I was killing time on Craigslist while some long-running tasks did their thing. First mistake. This is pretty much the equivalent of being on a crash-diet and going to window-shop at a gourmet foods store. So, yeah, it's pretty dumb of me. After about 20 minutes, I had a vicious boner. It was a good time to break for lunch. After a little time away from the computer, I was OK again.

Then, a few hours later, I was looking at Fleshbot (I know, I know), and saw this.

Oh. Wow.

Just watched it again, right now, in fact. It brings back memories... I've had sessions similar to that when I've been to a massage parlor in the past. Not with oil, though, usually just skin-on-skin. And that was clearly staged, unless the customer himself had arranged for the session to be taped (i.e., it's obviously not a hidden-camera video). But that woman, oh wow. So cute, and those glasses? Icing on the cake. I was (and am again) straining against my jeans so hard just moving around in my chair was tantamount to masturbation. And another 31 days yet, to go. I'm going to be a basket case.

In other news, I'm taking advantage of the extra time spent with Blogger to go back and tag my old articles. I hope to get a tag-cloud incorporated into the layout at some point, though I suspect I'll have to convert to the new-style layout engine to get it.

Oh, and this is, I believe, my 100^th post. Yay for me!

-D

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

(The title is the title of the latest single from the Bloodhound Gang. If you don't get it, make an acronym for it.)

So, I'm back home from Portland. I did in fact add Oregon to the list of states I've had sex in (for the record, it stands at Arizona, California, Colorado, Minnesota, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Oregon, Washington, Mexico and England). But to be fair, I did "order in", as it were. Being at a tech conference, the ratio of women to men was already dismal, and most of them were already partnered to some degree. Plus, women have a hard-enough time getting taken seriously in this field, without risking their rep by having one-nighters at serious tech conferences. Trade-shows, maybe. But this event is heavier than that. Add to that that I wasn't really up for trolling bars, and paying for it seemed like the best way out.

Which isn't to say that there are not some truly beautiful women in the Portland area. I encountered no less that five blue-eyed redheads, a color combination I'm a real sucker for. My wanderings around to places like Powell's books also brought a lot of fine eye-candy into view. There was in fact one woman visiting friends-- she was English but currently living in Atlanta (?!?)-- whom I met at a restaurant. We seemed to click really well; had I been able to separate her from her two (male) friends, I'd have slipped her my cell number. Might not have led to anything, but at least I would have tried!

So, failing all that I went to plan "B"...

I started out by checking Craig's List, specificially the listings for erotic services in Portland. The first thing that struck me was just how much more spam there is there than in the similar section for the bay area (well, the bay area is divided into five sections, SF, pennisula, north, south and east bay, and to be fair I only ever check the south bay). The ratio seemed to be almost 1:1 during some periods of the day. I wonder if may there just aren't as many providers using CL up there, and that in fact the spam rate is the same, just not as much wheat to offset the chaff.

Anyway, after reading for a while, I decided to call upon someone who went by "Tall Brunette". There were several messages praising her not only for skill, but also for attitude and general considerateness. There were also a few messages claiming she was a rip-off, and that the positive messages were all really her. But for some reason, I decided to take a change. And thank goodness I did.

One thing that makes it nearly impossible to completely give up commercial sex, is that I have about a 90% success-rate at picking quality people to see. As if I just have a sense for when the good comments are made-up or not, when the person truly is as good as others suggest. This was no exception.

She arrived almost exactly on time-- indeed, I was still shaving after having showered, since I just assumed she'd be 5-10 minutes late. She smiled, hugged me, and left me to finish shaving. We chatted a bit (though talking and shaving with a disposable razor at the same time is no mean feat), and she made herself comfy-- by dropping her pants and coming back into the bathroom in just her panties and t-shirt. When I finished shaving, we kissed for the first time... I'd checked to make sure she wasn't a smoker, but I could tell she was an occassional toker. But that is something that I can live with-- doesn't affect the breath (or the taste) like "regular" smoking does.

We moved to the bed, and continued making out. It was a really relaxing thing... I felt like I was with someone I'd already been on several dates with. And she was in fact tall-- probably 5'10" or 5'11" without shoes. So we were matched up nicely... face-to-face, hips-to-hips and feet-to-feet. We kept kissing and plaing footsie until she decided we needed to be undressed. She seemed pleased with the erection I had to offer (or at least, she did a good job making me feel like it), and proceeded to perform some world-class oral.

After about 10 minutes of this, I suggested we try a little 69. She very shyly declined, saying she couldn't concentrate on anything else when she was being eaten. I didn't want to finish just yet, so I had her lay back and I took my turn. I could see what she meant-- she really seemed to enjoy being eaten. No, she was wild for it. The longer I went, the more she twisted and bucked. After about 8-10 minutes, she flexed her muscles such that she lifted herself off the bed, save for shoulders and feet. I stayed at it for nearly 5 minutes more. Acknowledging the possibility that she was faking, she at least seemed to have a solid 3 climaxes.

Alas, I wore myself out holding on to her while she was bucking around. I'd been on a flight the day before, and spent the day itself in tutorials (and running a lengthy errand on foot). I fizzled around this time, and was certain I was shot. BUT, lucky for me, she wasn't going to let what I did go unrequited. She proceeded to patiently nuzzle me for what seemed like 15 minutes or more, until I was hard again. And rather than risk me losing it during the time it would take to change positions and deploy latex (yes, I do accept the risk of unconvered oral), she just kept right going, going, going until I was gone.

In short, a wonderful time, well worth the effort on my part. If I'd had the time (and the money to spare), I'd have been glad to call her back for a second round later that week. But my cellphone died and I had to replace it, so I wasn't up for anymore unplanned expenses. Looking back, I kinda wish I'd let the cellphone go...

Dausa

Damn Damn Damn

Falling off the wagon can skin the hell out of your knees and elbows.

I know that sex is an addiction for me. I can't treat it the way most people do. The last thing I should do is go "window shopping", for fuck's sake. But I do. I mean, I did. And I decided to spend money I couldn't afford to.

I got exactly what I deserved, too. The experience was mediocre. Mind you, I'm still really tight on cash, so let's just say I bargain-shopped. So it would be very fair to say I got what I paid for. I don't even feel motivated to go into detail. I paid. I came. I was less than convinced of the woman's sincerity.

Crap like this is why I view this as an addiction. It sure ain't healthy.

Dausa

You Also Remember the Really Good Times

Since I ended the last entry on a slight downer, I think I'll devote this entry less to the philosophy of my sex-addiction and more to purely salacious details. After all, what's the point of having "Sex" in the title of the journal, if you aren't going to at least occassionally titillate?

After the initial dive into commercial sex, I eventually got used to it. Oh, I still feel a twinge every time, even this last time the day before my birthday. But I also allow myself to thoroughly enjoy it, and get the most out of it. How else can I justify the expense? Like I said previously, I like to have certain options available to me in an encounter (kissing, going down), so I'm often cautious about trying new faces, and generally rely on a series of good reviews before I'll take the chance. And I'm not too hung up on conventional beauty or body-types-- if a person has a good reputation as a companion, I'm going to give it a try even if they aren't fashion-model pretty or fashion-model thin. Candy (the one I had my last go-round with) was very highly regarded, though most reviewers commented negatively on her face, and her age. But I decided to give it a shot.

Candy works through one of those "apartment massage" agencies. I'd seen other girls of theirs before, so I didn't have to go through the full phone-screening. Unlike most of the girls, Candy was way off the beaten path. I ended up running a little late for having had trouble finding the place. Once I got there, I was pleasantly surprised: Candy was actually pretty cute. No movie star by any measure, but from the reviews I had been expecting to need to keep my eyes squeezed shut. Her build was fairly slight, and her hair was a little on the stringy side, but I was sure I would have no problems getting it up for her. I hopped into the shower, both because I could use it and to make sure she knew I was cleaning myself up for her, and scrubbed away. When I was done, she was waiting outside the tub to towel me down . Then we moved to the bed.

(This is where it starts to get salacious. If you've been waiting for this, your wait is over. If you don't want to read textual porn, now's a good time to go Google something.)

I laid down on my stomache. Because these fronts operate under the illusion of "massage parlors", you generally have to wait through 10-15 minutes of half-hearted massage, at least until the woman knows and trusts you. This is usually a lot of poking and pinching, but Candy had a very light, gentle touch. I really enjoy light caresses as foreplay. After 5-10 minutes, she had me roll over on my back. I'm naked, and I'm turned on. And on me, the one means you cannot ignore the other. But she did, for the next 5 minutes or so. More caresses, never actually touching that central core. 15 or so minutes have passed, and I feel like I could drive a six-inch spike though a board with my penis. She looks up at me with a slight smile and that look in her eyes. I think, "At last! Let the sucking of the cock commence!"

Nope.

She proceeds to rim me. I've been rimmed before, it rocks. In fact, in the shower earlier I took care to wash all over, just in case this were an option. And oh thank god I did, because this woman isn't just licking tentatively-- she's going over my ass with the energy and enthusiasm I put into eating a woman out. I swear to god I'm going to explode, and she's barely touched my cock with her hands. She doesn't just do this for a few minutes, either. She sits up momentarily and hikes my legs up to my chest, as if I were the woman and she were about to slide in to the hilt. If she'd had a strap-on, she could have, too. I was so wet from her tongue I doubt there would have been much resistance. But that wasn't her goal-- she just wanted even better access to my ass. At this point, I'm reduced to a quivering, jelly-like mass. Except for one part that has taken on the nature of solid steel wrapped in a layer of velvet. I have no sense of time. All I am able to do is revel in the feelings and work to keep from coming.

She stops. She pulls my legs back down to the bed. I look down just in time to see most of my cock disappear into her mouth. Understand two things-- (1) I'm above-average in girth as well as length, and (2) she's not a very big girl to begin with. But she gets almost all of it down. And if I thought she could rim, I wasn't at all prepared for this. Like I said in the previous entry, she's probably forgotten more than most working girls will ever know, when it comes to giving head. And I have an oral fixation, so now I'm pretty much picturing Joe Pesci in Goodfellas in order to keep from exploding. This woman has a rep for getting guys to pop several times, but I don't have that much faith in myself, and I want this to last. So when she pulls off and reaches for the condom, I'm actually relieved. I rarely orgasm in a condom, I usually have to remove it and finish by hand or orally. This will help me regain my cool, and last longer, I think. Hah!

She lays back, and I enter her missionary-style. I should point out that we've been kissing a lot the whole time, from when I arrived. So there she is, looking up at me, kissing me, and gripping me like a prom date. I am so completely over. When the coming starts, I am just a slave to it. There's no stopping it, not even picturing Michael Jackson will help. I have one of the most incredible orgasms in memory. When finally the twitching stops, she hugs me tightly, like she's trying to get our bodies to merge. We kiss some more. She pulls off of me and takes off the cover. It disappears, and she returns with a warm, damp towel. After cleaning us both off, she lays down next to me. I do the first thing that occurs to me: I go down.

Up until now, it's been all about me. But I can't let such an amazing orgasm go by without trying to return the favor. Now, I do not deceive myself about whether a sex worker truly gets pleasure from the experience. Some don't, some do. And you may never know the difference, if they do their job well. That said, I'm no slacker in the oral department myself. I used to be clueless, but a bi girlfriend set me straight (as it were) by teaching me not just what she liked, but what she had found to be the most effective with women she had bedded. And at this moment, I'm grateful as all hell. So I give her my very best effort. I listen closely for changes in her breathing as I probe different areas with my tongue. I take note of vocalizations and movement in her body. And as it happens, I figure I've done something right when she cries out and grabs the back of my head, smashing my face into her whole labial area. I can barely breathe, but I'm not about to stop. After a bit, her grip on my head loosens, and I pull away and we snuggle some more.

Usually, giving head make me really hard, too. But that was a really amazing orgasm earlier. Remember when I said she was known for getting guys to go more than once? Well, she was determined to do that with me. She started with the rimming again, and sure-enough I got rock-hard a second time. She starts sucking again, only less frenetic this time. More gentle, loving, almost. But getting a second hard-on and actually having a second orgasm are two different things. I try to explain this, but she isn't listening. She isn't trying to force things, either. I get the feeling that if we finish the hour like this, with her nursing my cock but shy of orgasm, that will be fine with her. But she clearly isn't going to stop until either I come or time runs out. So I lay back and let my whole bady relax and bask in the feelings. With one hand, I can reach her ass, so I gently rub and caress as she keeps at it. I lightly stroke my fingertips over her labia, which gets her to moan around the cock in her mouth. I do it again, because the moaning felt good.

I try a few times to explain that I'm older and out of shape, and that I just probably won't go a second time. She ignores me. She knows better, you see, because after nearly 10 minutes of her tender, gentle attention, I feel an unexpected tingling start at the base. No one is more surprised than I am! I try to warn her (never come in someone's mouth without prior consent, or at least fair warning), but she only sucks harder and deeper. And next thing I know, I'm shooting a second time. I know it isn't as intense as the first, but you couldn't tell just by the feelings my nerve-endings are sending to my brain. At this point, I am well and truly spent. She runs to the bathroom to spit, and I just lay there, glowing and grinning like a fool. A satisfied fool, I must add.

After we clean up and dress, she leads me to the door and gives me one last gentle kiss. I promise myself I'll be back. This person is a flower in a large field of weeds. Thank goodness I didn't let the complaints about face or age deter me. Her service was advertised as GFE-- a "girlfriend experience". Well, I've had quite a few girlfriends with whom I never had that much fun in a single hour.

I'm still glowing when I wake the next morning.

Dausa

You Never Forget Your First Time

Like it was just last week, I still remember every part of that night in exquisite detail. I remember the girl I was with, her voice, her eyes, her long, curly hair. I remember how nervous I was, not sure if I should make the first move. Not sure how to proceed, or to suggest what I hoped was on both our minds. And of course, I remember how much I was charged.

Yes, I am referring not to the night I lost my virginity, but rather to the very first time I paid for sex.

I like to think I'm cosmopolitan, but it's a facade. I grew up in Oklahoma, with little understanding of the more enriched world, except what I saw on TV. So well into my 20's, my only view of commercial sex was one of two extremes: the high-class, $1000-a-visit call girl, and the desperate, battered and bruised street walker. Somewhere towards the end of my time in Denver, as I was about to move to California, I started becoming aware of the many things in between. One that really intrigued me was the massage parlor. These are places staffed almost exclusively by people of various Asian extractions. These days, they're giving way to apartment-based operations. Having too many girls in one place makes for an easy police target, after all. But in 1997, I decided it was time for me to test the waters. I was in San Jose, I knew hardly anyone at all, and I had surplus income.

The place I chose (which has long since been closed down) was called Rosabella Spa, and was in Cupertino conveniently close to the office I was working in. After several false-starts, I summoned the courage one night and walked in. I really had no idea what to expect. I was offered the choice of a half-hour or full-hour session, and I went for the full. All this really got me was more time spent in the whirlpool bath and so on, it didn't really work out to more time with the girl (a lesson quickly learned). (To be fair, though, spending 15 minutes or so in that whirlpool bath was fucking divine.) Finally, though, I found myself on the table getting the massage I (officially) came there for. Well, more of a hot-towel treatment, but you get the point.

She had pretty good hands. At least, that's how I remember it. But it was the first time, and we (almost) always remember our first time with a tint of romanticism. I was laying there wondering how I would know if it was OK to ask for more than just the caresses I was getting. How do I ask it? She's got to be just as worried about me being a cop as I am about her being a decoy. She was awful cute, too. Dark complexion (maybe a little Philipino influence), thick, full lips. And hair that fell in long, loopy curls halfway down her back. I was pretty sure that if sex was on the menu, I was ready to order.

Finally, after I had rolled over onto my back (at her direction-- you should wait until you're told) and she had teased my little soldier just a tiny bit, it happened: she "broke the ice", as it were. She looked down at me (damn-- she had cute eyes, too!) and pantomimed fucking using one index finger and fingers of the other hand formed into an "O". Not much chance of misinterpreting THAT cue, was there? A price was agreed upon, money exchanged, and a condom magically summoned from the ether. She dropped her nice floral print summer dress to reveal a truly amazing body. Not too skinny, but not quite curvy-enough for a Victoria's Secret catalog.

The event itself, in retrospect, was hardly the best sex I'd ever had (or even had since, with other sex workers). But it was just as magical and exciting as the first time with any partner. We went through usual practices-- oral, her on top, missionary-- and I got to play with her chest some. I didn't even try to go down, since I didn't know the proper etiquette, nor did I attempt to kiss. But it was hot, hot enough for me to have a very pleasant orgasm.

I thanked her, and left. I went back to work for a while, then went home. When I was at home, it finally hit me: I've accepted the fact that it's nearly impossible for me to get laid on my own merits. At least, that was how it felt. And that night, I cried.

Dausa

Fancy Meeting You Here

Well, it has finally happened. After seven years or so of, ahem, "engaging the services of sex workers", that thing you always dread has happened.

I ran into someone I'd seen professionally, in an ordinary setting.

I was at a store that sells stuff like model trains, radio-control airplanes, etc. I was browsing around, squeezing the last bit of my lunch hour out before returning to the office. I turned down an aisle and saw her. Of course, I didn't recognize her immediately, at first I just thought that I'd run across an attractive woman who seemingly enjoyed the same hobbies I do. Then she looked up and I knew right then who she was (hey, she gives truly amazing head, and I'm orally-fixated... these things impress upon my memory). I looked away immediately and moved to a different aisle. I didn't know if she was there alone or not, but I had no business putting her on the spot (it was clear she had recognized me, too) if there was someone with her. Turns out there was, so it was a good call.

They left a few minutes later. I went ahead and picked up some materials for a project and left, as well. After waiting long-enough to make sure we wouldn't bump into each other in the parking lot. She's too nice of a person to have to worry about stuff like that when she's out with a friend/SO/whatever.

Pitching That Final Bitch

So, a little more about my "last spin" with the sex worker last night. As an aside, the phrase "pitching a final bitch" is not a reference to the woman herself; it's a phrase I picked up in a book I read ages ago, a scene in which a lead female character is breaking off an extramarital affair, but wants one more go-round before they never see each other again. She says to her soon-to-be-ex, "So my boyo, let us pitch a final bitch." It somehow seems to fit, here. I will write more in the future about my opinions on prostitution in general (it should be at least decriminalized, if not outright legalized), and my feelings about sex workers in particular (they deserve far more rights than they currently enjoy, and are usually infinitely more honest than your average Enron or Tycho exec). But for now, on to the meat of the matter, as it were...

I prefer a certain kind of encounter when I'm visiting a sex worker. In the obfuscated-slang parlance of "hobbyists", it's called the GFE, or girl-friend experience. This can mean a variety of things, but it's generally assumed to include at least a majority of the following:

• Light kissing on the mouth (LK)
• Deep, full kissing on the mouth (DFK, also sometimes interpreted at "deep French kissing")
• Receiving oral sex without a cover (BBBJ, for "bare-back blowjob")
• Permitting the man to go down on the woman (DATY, for "Dining At The Y")
• Allowing multiple "pops" (orgasms) for the man within the time period, if he can.

Note that unprotected intercourse is not on that list. I'm sure that some readers will want to immediately comment on the risks of unprotected oral sex, but those are risks I choose to accept. (Please don't waste my time or yours commenting on it.)

So anyway, I like the GFE. I have to be careful, though, because I have a great aversion to smokers (more on that later, but the short version is that the "flavor" of kissing a smoker is rank). And since sex work is stressful, brought about by a variety of factors-- danger of getting busted, danger of an abusive customer, etc.-- that cannot be immediately dealt with, it's no real surprise that a lot of sex workers smoke. So I have to screen potential choices before plopping down my hard-earned cash.

This is all a long-winded build-up, of course. Last night was a repeat visit to someone I had already seen hefore. Someone who was a good logical choice for a (semi-)final visit. She's an older Chinese woman who goes by "Candy", who works through an agency that sets up girls in apartments. My first encounter with her was almost literally earth-moving. During that encounter, she got me to accomplish two things I very rarely do: first, I climaxed in missionary position while wearing a condom. I have a hard-enough time popping while wearing a cover, and mish isn't my favorite position. But by the time we'd gotten to that point, she had me so revved up it literally snuck up on me. The second thing was, that I climaxed a second time within a half-hour of the first. I'm not as young as I used to be (heh), and I've let my physical fitness go for several years now. But she latched her mouth onto my little friend like it was the Fount of Life Itself, and just didn't give up until I erupted a second time. The thing is, Candy isn't that attractive, physically. She's clearly in her mid- to late-forties, at least. Her hair is stringy, and her body is flabby in a few places. I could, for the same money, have seen a seriously-hot 20-23 year-old. But this girl was the shit, so much so that I went back for seconds last night.

Well, here's where being a confessed sex-addict comes in. Last night just wasn't as good. The newness wasn't there. The enthusiasm was, on her part at least. I had refrained from whacking off for a few days, in anticipation. (I had decided to do this as my "farewell" visit a week or so ago, but Candy only just returned from vacation.) The first pop was great. This girl has forgotten more about rimming and blowjobs than most women will ever know. I imagine she could even teach gay men a thing or two. Unlike the first time I visited her, the first eruption came from oral. Also unlike the first visit, I was unable to manage a second erection. Well, I did, right at the end of the hour. To her credit, she was willing to go over the clock, but the agency called her to tell her another client was en route. In the intervening time, we kissed, cuddled and caressed a lot. I also went down. Now, not to brag or anything, but I'm really fucking good at that. More on this later, too, but I was taught and trained by a bisexual woman who could direct me both on what she liked and what she herself had found to be most effective. I went to town on Candy for a good 15-20 minutes, after which she grabbed a condom and went for my cock with a vengence. Alas, nothing. And giving head usually gives me a raging hard-on, since I seriously get off on the responses of the woman. But not last night. If I could, I have no doubt she would have ridden me like a Harley. My loss. (And yes, I realize that all of her responses could have been faked, and at least some probably were. But that's part of the whole illusion, and I accept it.)

So I stumbled out, a little more than an hour after I arrived. I had the one orgasm, much more satisfying than taking things in hand, but not the two I assumed I would have when I went in. But the warm feelings of the enounter will carry me for a few days at least, before I start to feel the withdrawal symptoms again.

Dausa