The urge to see a prostitute  

rm_acidgramps 49M
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10/6/2005 3:01 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

The urge to see a prostitute

For the last 15 years I've been living in major cities with easy access to prostitutes.

The first two year of that time span, I thought a certain street contained sports schools. There were only men in sports clothes walking around, parking their outdated Mercedes on the corner and sneaking around on sneakers. It took some time and talk from friends to find out it was something completely different. It usually takes that time with me to find out such things.

The attraction started soon after I found out the nature of that street, but went unnoticed as I didn't recognize the signs. However, the hormones were gradually replacing my blood, and I knew something had to be done to be able to live normally again. So one night coming back from a night out, I walked through the almost empty street, with only a few of the girls still available in their red windows. Nothing stopped me from talking to one of them, entering the house, getting undressed, having a loveless warmup and for the first time in my life, enter a warm pussy with a dick covered in rubber. I wasn't allowed to put my weight on her, and she didn't care much for my being new at this. I did cum, and it did silence the voices of my lust for a while.

The effect was like a drug. As the need grew to unbearable heights, I only needed a bit of money that I could spare, and a visit to this place. And although it was without love, it was welcoming enough. It was always quiet, men slowly walking around gazing at the girls that would seduce them with studied body language, always avoiding eachothers look. No room for irony, no matter how much we knew how sad and pathetic we really were. The dimmed light, the red, purple and blue shine, and especially, the curiosity of how beautiful, attractive and -especially- sexy the girl in the next window would be, made it a unique place to be.

The first round was always the most exciting. The top of my belly would be tight with shame, one stage lower was the excitement of doing something that wasn't allowed, and yet below that it was screaming out in joy, knowing it ran a good chance of satisfaction. My brains were continuously making up the balance - how much do I want this? how much can I pay? how ashamed will I feel afterwards, how satisfied? is there any girl worth having? is any of them interested enough in me?

The hit would be the moment I saw a girl that melted into my system at once, made contact with me that showed willingness. My resistance would go down the drain as mud in the rain, even though my brains would fail to notice this. Later I knew the signs beforehand, and often didn't even resist, as I knew I would do it anyway. This sometimes made me fuck a hooker that was really bad.

Over the years, I went back innumerable times. I simply don't have a clue how many women I fucked over all those years. It got less when I got girlfriends, but it didn't stop. It's an addiction, to be among those men, between those girls, see who reacts how, how pretty they are, how much they seem to want you. It's like walking through a babe magazine where suddenly the girls wink at you. That wink that goes straight through your spine to your crotch, and makes you a lost man, that's worth its toll. That's a proper rush. Admitting defeat, and becoming the slsave of beauty, is worth the shame afterwards
At least, beforehand.

It's been a while since last time. A long time. Way too long. Somewhere last year in june or so, and it was bad. The urge is slumbering. When is the next time? Can I resist? Do I want to resist?

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