Paying For Orgasms

I’ve become a john.

I know that’s a pimp… but YOU try finding a picture of a female john!

A jane.

I’ve now paid for orgasms.

I totally get it, men. I get why you sometimes find it easier to just pay for what you want.

As I’ve discussed on here before, I think it’s absolutely revolting that prostitution is illegal so I won’t go into that again.

But what made me take the leap from being an advocate of prostitution to a paying customer?

Here’s my story…

I’m a whore for massages. I fucking love them. I’ve had many regular spa massages and they’re great, but I’ve always found them lacking.

I know all the health and therapeutic benefits to massage. I know that for LMTs and CMTs, it’s all business and not a sexual experience.

But, for me anyway, anytime anyone is rubbing on my naked body, even if I’m beneath a sheet, it’s sexual for me. It’s sensual. It’s delicious and decadent and naughty.

And I’ve always left the spa feeling that the massage shouldn’t have stopped where it did. It’s all about relaxation for me, and I’m never more relaxed than when I’ve just had an orgasm!

This is nice…

So I’ve paid for my massages and gone home and diddled myself to oblivion.

I’d rather have someone else do that diddling for me.

As you may know, I’ve been a long time member of AdultFriendfinder. As a woman, I’ve had great luck finding sex on that site because the numbers are something like 20,000 men for every 1 woman. Not hard to find a man willing to fuck me.

A couple of years ago, a gentleman contacted me that was a masseur. Licensed, had his own business, the whole nine yards, and he offered me a sensual massage for free. I took him up on it, went to his business and he gave me everything I wanted. This relationship went on for a while but it was flawed… I found him completely unattractive and it started to feel very wrong to me. I wasn’t paying him so I felt that I had to reciprocate. And I didn’t enjoy it. Instead of being relaxing, I started to hate thinking about the time when I would have to suck his cock at the end of the session. He was small and hairy. And I hated it. And his personality was very, very bland.

Not only that, but the massages changed. Instead of giving me a full body massage, he began skipping all of that and going straight to jamming his fingers in my twat and my ass. The sensuality was gone. I couldn’t even close my eyes and pretend he was someone I enjoyed. It was ludicrous of me to continue seeing him for as long as I did and I stopped.

He emailed me for months, begging me to come back. He eventually got the hint and stopped.

That was about a year ago and I hadn’t had a massage of any sort since.

Blah.

If you’re one of my Twitter followers, you know I’ve been going through a dry spell. My libido took a hike. Not only was I going without any sort of sex, I quit masturbating and having orgasms, too.

I tried to make myself feel sexual again. I set up dates with guys from AFF and backed out at the last minute when I just couldn’t be bothered to want sex. I tried masturbating, unsuccessfully. I lost something.

Since embracing my sexuality several years ago, it’s been a huge part of my life. Losing that has been devastating.

I talked it through with a couple of close Twitter friends and finally realized that it wasn’t sex I was missing… it was intimacy.

And that, in and of itself, is troubling. I really, really don’t want a relationship. But I do want to be touched. And not by a stranger that is only looking to get his rocks off without really taking the time to learn my body and learn what turns me on.

I was at a loss. I absolutely didn’t want to go through trying to find a lover that needed the same things I did. Call me selfish, but I like my life. I don’t want a lover or boyfriend intruding on it. And I didn’t want to take the time to vet 10,000 guys to find the one that didn’t just talk a big game.

It led me back to thinking about massages…

…but THIS is better!

In pretty much any city of any size, there is at least one rub-and-squirt massage parlor, usually Asian, that caters to men. Check out Craig’s List or Backpage and there are hundreds of ads for massages. For men.

Thai massage, table massage, shower massage, jacuzzi massage, Swedish massage, tandem massage, etc., etc… it doesn’t take a genius to know that they all come with happy endings.

But what about us women?? Even the men I found were only performing massages for other men. God damn it, I wanted a massage with a happy ending, too!

Finally, in a sea of hundreds of other ads, I found one. Men, women and couples welcome. All masseurs. No masseuses.

I quickly fired off an email to see if they were serious about accepting female clients. I love gay men… but I didn’t necessarily want some 19 year old twink trying to act like he enjoyed touching my naughty bits.

The gentleman that responded to me assured me that women were most definitely welcome. After exchanging many emails, I set up an appointment.

Bless his heart… I was trying to find out if the massage really included a happy ending without sounding like a cop, while at the same time trying to find out if HE was a cop and ended up sounding like a harpy. He answered all my questions as best he could without actually saying “I WILL RUB YOUR PUSSY UNTIL YOU ORGASM”.

I’m also very impulsive. When I decide I want to do something, I don’t want to wait. If I wait, I’ll talk myself out of it.

This was a problem as I’m broke (payday is tomorrow) and the earliest he could get me in after tomorrow was next week.

EEK! I absolutely would have chickened the fuck right out if I had to wait that long!

He had time free yesterday and I explained my money situation to him and he agreed to either give me an IOU or a post-dated check.

What a sweetie!!

So, I had my massage scheduled. And I was pretty sure, though still not entirely, that it would include the happy ending I so desired.

I left work three hours early. Came home, shaved my snatch (just in case) and primped and polished myself like I was going on a date with Colin Firth.

I left an hour before my scheduled time as I wasn’t sure what traffic would be like. So I arrived in his area a good half an hour before my appointment. The AC in my car is broken and it was in the mid-90s yesterday so I was sweaty and wilting and feeling like a fucking idiot.

I texted him about 20 minutes before my scheduled time. He texted back that he’d just finished another client and to give him a few minutes and then to come on over. I drove around for a bit and then finally pulled up to his place.

I was a nervous fucking wreck. I had no idea what to expect. Do I pay first, or at the end? Do I have to explicitly tell him what I want, or will he just do it automatically? IS HE A COP? I was absolutely expecting to be thrown up against a wall and cuffed (and not in the fun way) the minute I came through the door.

Luckily, that didn’t happen.

He answered the door and I knew right away he wasn’t a cop. He was a bit older than I was expecting which is fine since I prefer mature men. Maybe a bit shorter, but who really cares about that? The thing that struck me most was that he immediately set off my gaydar.

But how do you ask that? And does it matter? I was going to pay him to perform a service. If he was willing, why should it bother me that he’s actually gay? (Note: I’ve since learned… because I finally got up the nerve to fucking ask… that he’s done both men and women due to the nature of his work but he’s “mostly straight.” I never said my gaydar was perfect!)

The whole time I was thinking this, though, in the back of my head I was thinking, “pleasebebipleasebebipleasebebi” because, if you know me, you know that I fucking love bisexual men. My ultimate sexual fantasy involves having a hot, sweaty threesome with two bisexual men. Oh. FUCK. Yes.

He led me to a room… a bedroom that also had a massage table. Just like any other massage I’ve ever paid for, he instructed me to strip down to whatever I was comfortable with and get on the table under the sheet, face down. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if I wasn’t just going to get a regular g-rated massage.

Still… a massage is a massage. I would enjoy whatever I got!

I got naked and slipped under the sheet. As soon as he came back to the room and started on me, I knew it wasn’t going to be a regular massage.

I had the sheet pulled up nearly to my shoulders… the first thing he did was lower it below my buttocks… a big no-no in the world of legitimate massages.

YAY!

He began with my shoulders and back. Nothing sexual. Just like any other wonderful massage. He moved lower and lower. Massaged my arms and hands.

And then he gave me the best damn butt massage ever. But it still didn’t really feel sexual… he didn’t spread my cheeks, didn’t touch my asshole. No delving deep between my thighs.

And… YES!

I thought I felt him brush himself against my hand a couple times, but I wasn’t sure. I was face down, so I couldn’t see anything. So I just relaxed and enjoyed. He moved to my legs and feet and it was fabulous, though I was a little embarrassed because I’m a bit overdue for a pedicure!

My inner thighs are particulary sensitive and when he massaged me there, I thought I knew what was coming… but, no… it was just a tease. When he didn’t touch me then, I really started to think that I was going to get the g-rated massage.

He asked me to flip over and kept me covered… from shoulders down.

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that. Maybe if I’d opened my eyes instead of being a big chicken and keeping them tightly shut, I wouldn’t have realized what was in store for me!

He massaged my shoulders and neck… arms… then finally, FINALLY lowered the sheet to below my breasts, exposing my stomach as well.

Now, you folks know I’m fat. I felt a little shy knowing that all my blubber was on display for him. It was different when I was face down. I don’t know why, but it was. I didn’t feel quite as open and exposed.

But he was wonderful. He never made me feel like a beached whale lying on his table. He massaged all around and between my breasts, never really touching them. He massaged my sides and my big fat belly but made me feel cherished while doing so. And then he finally massaged my breasts… my nipples. It was sensational. He didn’t try to pinch or twist my nipples off as so many men do. He was sensual and his strong hands were wonderful, the way they squeezed and caressed my breasts.

He kept widening his circles, rubbing lower and lower, pushing the sheet down a little further each time until he was massaging my pubic bone and mons. The anticipation was decadent.

He pushed the sheet down my thighs so I was exposed. He began massaging my inner thighs again, getting closer and closer and then… YES! Finally! He was there. I was so wet.

With one hand he massaged my pussy and my clit while the other continued to massaged my breasts. My hands were at my sides and I felt a slight wetness on the hand next to him. That’s when I finally, stupidly, finally, realized that he was naked. And hard. And seeping precum.

Yay me!

We all know how I worship the cock!

Was I allowed to touch? I mean, it was right there… it seemed perfectly natural to wrap my hand around him and stroke him as he stroked me. So, of course I did! Nice and thick, but not too long. Perfect, really. Tight balls… I really wanted them in my mouth but didn’t get that chance.

I continued to stroke him as he brought me closer and closer to the edge, using his hands and subtle words to encourage me to let go… and I did. I had a glorious orgasm that left me breathless.

Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me then. But, alas, that didn’t happen.

After I came, he got a towel and a spray bottle of alcohol and rubbed me down… I was covered in oil, after all, and maybe a bit of sweat after that orgasm and the cooling sensation of the alcohol was delightful. After he cleaned off my breasts, he bent over and sucked on my nipples for a few… fabulous!

Just like this…

And, well, at that point his cock was pretty much right there… right in my face. What’s a girl to do?

Taste him, of course. I took his cock in my mouth and licked him from top to bottom and would have loved spending longer doing that but he moved away from my mouth, stroked himself a few times and came on my shoulder. Nice, thick, white cum.

He cleaned it off with the towel before I got to scoop it up and play with it… taste it. *pout*

Alas, my massage was over… happy ending and all!

We made small talk for a few minutes while I stretched and purred like a big, fat satisfied pussy cat, but I didn’t ask him all the questions I wanted to know… Was he gay or bi? What other extras could I get? Could I pay him to fuck me? He works with two other men… are they gay or bi? Could I pay them to make my ultimate sexual fantasy come true?

And the more mundane questions my curious mind wanted to know… how he got started? Was this his only  job? How many clients does he have? Male, female? Does he enjoy it or does he, like the rest of us, moan and groan about having to go to work?

I absolutely loved it and can’t wait to go back again for more. But I also have to keep reminding myself that this is something I’m paying for. It’s a job for him. This isn’t a FWB situation and if I want to see him again, I have to pay real cash money.

I’m a girl… I missed kissing and cuddling, especially afterwards.

So, was it everything I wanted? Yes and no. Or, yes, but I wanted more. I really, really wanted him to fuck me. And I really wanted to push him back on the bed and spend some quality time giving him head, because I do so enjoy that. I wanted to suck his balls into my mouth and I wanted to lick his asshole.

Because I’m a dirty girl. 😉

But again, I have to keep reminding myself that he’s not a lover. I’m just a client. A john. Or… I guess in my case, a jane.

The cost was the same as a massage you get anywhere else. But I’m not a rich girl… I would back weekly if I could afford it. Unfortunately, this is going to have to be a monthly appointment, if that. I’m going to have to figure out how to work it into my budget. Oh, yeah, I’m going to go back next week because I’m incredibly horny and thrilled to have my sex drive back… but in the future, I’m going to have to pace myself. I wonder if he gives volume discounts?!

A couple of other notes… we’ve been emailing back and forth since yesterday. First, for me to thank and also to ask his permission to blog about my experience and I hope he’s reading this and enjoying my retelling of yesterday’s adventure (Hi!!). Also, he’s let me know that next time, I can get the “inner muscle massage with his massage stick” for no extra cost. WOOT!

I will continue to keep you all updated on my adventures… thank you for reading!

Ladies, if you ever have the chance to experience what I experienced yesterday… go for it! It was well worth the angst and the expense! I cannot wait to go back again. It’s my own, private dirty little secret that no one in the real world will ever know!

Love For Sale

There is another way that women are being victimized in the United States other than in bad porn.

Prostitution.

And you know how to fix it?

It’s really easy… almost too easy…

Legalize it!

Legalize that shit NOW.

If a woman could legally sell her body for sex without fear of being tossed in jail to rot, she wouldn’t need a pimp offering her “protection”. And let’s face it, prostitutes are victimized by their pimps. Or they have to ply their wares in completely unsafe neighborhoods hidden away from polite society where they can easily be drugged, raped or killed. If it were legal, pimps would be a thing of the past. Almost instantly. I think most men, the johns, would prefer dealing directly with the woman they were planning the sex with, knowing that 100% of their payment would go directly to her.

Sure, there would be brothels… but, with legalizing it, there would be oversight and regulation. And whoever is running the brothel would have a huge reason to keep things running above board- if it gets shut down, his or her business is gone and the employees would simply go work somewhere else. Where they were treated well. And, believe me, there are plenty of people who would happily open them and run them extraordinarily well.

And let’s not forget… it’s my body. I can use it for damn near anything I want, except sex for money. And that’s bullshit. Puritanical bullshit. Old white men bullshit. How dare they tell me I can’t have sex with a man and charge him money for the pleasure! Of all the stupid, illogical, nonsensical horseshit. Every job we do for a paycheck involves the use of our bodies in some way. Typing on a keyboard, painting a wall, modeling clothes, preventing crime, counting pills for a prescription, performing surgery… everything. I can’t think of any jobs that don’t require you to use your body in some way. And, yes, most of them require you to use your brain, too.

And what is more sensual that a smart woman using her brains as well as her body during sex? Can you, gentlemen, imagine? I know there are plenty of high-class escorts out there now that do this very same thing, for thousands of dollars. Bless them. But they still have to operate their business under a veil of secrecy and that’s just stupid.

If prostitution were legal, the drug and alcohol abuse that is so rampant in prostitution would, partially, go away. There will always be women with low self-esteem and addictive personalities that can’t avoid it, but for the most part, if women were in control and could say no… choose the men they want as clients and not have to fuck and suck every scuzzy, smelly, fat, dirty, dangerous freak that waved a $20 in their faces, they wouldn’t have the need to deaden their senses to get through it.

Oh, and sex trafficking? There would be a terrible industry that would suffer a huge blow if prostitution were legalized.

When is America going to finally accept that sex isn’t dirty? That it’s nothing something to be ashamed of? It’s part of who we are… it defines our very existence. We areanimals. And we have needs. Sexual needs. Itches that need to be scratched. It’s not going to change.

There has always been sex. Always and forever. And it’s always felt good. It’s always been done for pleasure. How else did our species ever start? Think cavemen knew that fucking led to babies? Hell no… they knew it was the absolute most pleasurable thing they could do!

It’s not going away. And prostitution is not going away. It’s time to throw the archaic laws off the books and stop governing the way we women use our bodies. Women will never be equal until this happens because these are laws created by men that forbid us control over our bodies. It’s legal slavery.

It’s just one more way for women to be told we’re not as smart as men. They know better… Silly women wanting to sell their bodies. It’s for our own good. Trust them. They know what’s best for us.

You know what pisses me off? ANYONE telling me what’s best for me.

I’m not going to get into the moral arguments about prostitution. Different people have different morals. Some people still believe in God. That’s their thing and they can do and act however they want, so long as it doesn’t impede on me in any way.

My argument is regarding the law. Which is, theoretically, supposed to not be based on that silly book (the Bible). If our courts are not supposed to take Sharia law into account, then they shouldn’t take Christian law into account, either. Yes, the Bible condemns prostitution. And haircuts. So that tells you how much weight it should hold when deciding what is good or bad.

Our lawmakers need to grow the fuck up and stop thinking they know what is best for me and for my body. And they have, in lots of ways. I can vote now. And, yes, I can also have an abortion.

But I can’t have sex with a man of my choosing and charge him. That’s imbecilic.

Would I be a prostitute if it were legal? Probably not. Mainly because I’m a middle aged fat woman and I doubt I’d have a lot of clients. But, seriously, I’m broke. If someone wanted me? Absofuckinglutely. I could use the extra money.

I’m very lucky. I have a job that I actually love. It pays next to nothing. I work in the nonprofit world and haven’t had a raise in three years. Our money is supposed to go to funding our programs. But I love it and that’s a trade off I made. I could either have a job I hate that pays well, or a job I love that doesn’t and I chose the job I love. I am looking at an empty pantry and an empty gas tank and $100 to get me through the next two weeks. And I have no desire to pick up a crappy second job for minimum wage with a boss with a Napoleon complex.

But if I could be my own boss? A couple nights a week? Doing something I already love? Why the fuck not?

And not all johns are looking for prostitutes because they can’t find another woman to sleep with them. They are thousands of reasons and a big one is that they want sex without the hassle of dating. I get that, because I do, too. And, yes, I have considered paying for sex myself. In a way, I already have. By paying for a membership to AdultFriendFinder. As a woman, I have my choice on there. In my area, there are over 20,000 men that are members and just over 2,000 women. And that’s not taking into account how many of those women are actually real. So, in a way, that’s me paying for sex.

So, yes, if I had the chance, I would… if the demand was there… sell my body.

It would be my decision. If the guy squicked me out, I’d simply say no.

Because, oddly enough, I can do that. I have that ability. I have a brain and I’m not afraid to use it.

And maybe that’s what they are afraid of…