In grade school, I didn’t even know what a prostitute was. In middle school I was taught that whores are all miserable people who get addicted to drugs, then die young.
Nothing could be further from the truth, at least for me and the people I know.
Oh, sure, there are thousands of teenage girls who end up in a downward spiral. They meet a seemingly nice older guy who has a lot of money and gives them things, including drugs. It’s a fascinating world for these kids. They feel like adults ahead of their time. They start to become addicted. These guys they met let them know that in order to afford the drugs, which they now crave beyond control, they can have sex with customers. Most of the young girls hate the idea, but what else can they do? They’re addicted. The guys, their pimps, not only take a cut of the money, they take most of it. Many of them also sexually, verbally and physically abuse the girls. For these unfortunate teens, there’s no way out. They spiral downward and die. Very sad.
So now, let me tell you my story, which is entirely different.
My parents were not super-rich, but they were well enough off that they were able to send me to a Catholic boarding high school. In the summer of my 13th year, I was very happy to be going to the better high school. Fall came, and I learned from the very first day that parochial school was not all it was cracked up to be.
Now, I’ve always thought of myself as a good Catholic girl, but I have to tell you, praying silently for 55 minutes on hard wooden pews just isn’t for me. I was so bored! And the nuns were not very nice. For instance, one used to walk among our rows of desks, and would suddenly whack one girl or another on the wrist with a wooden ruler. Maybe it was for whispering to her neighbor, or doing poorly on a test. But it fucking hurt! Maybe it’s not like this in all Catholic schools, but in my school, most of the nuns were sour old women. Their personalities were wooden, and never allowed any sort of fun, even for themselves. Personally, I don’t think that’s the way to bring up studious, self-motivated kids. But what do I know?
Our school, being in a coastal town was only about 100 yards from the beach. There was a rumor in our school that used to scare the bejeepers out of me. It is said that the nuns were particularly mad at one girl a few years earlier. I think she accidentally muttered ‘God damn,” which the nuns overheard. Anyway, after dark, they dragged the girl down to the beach, took off all her clothes, and stuffed her vagina with sand.
I don’t know whether it’s true, but it had a strange effect on me. You’d think I’d be horrified, and I was. But there was something else. It was the first time I had really heard the word vagina used other than in medical contexts. It gave me a tingle down there.
The first time I tried confessing this horrible thought and related tingle, which of course I knew was terribly bad, I just couldn’t bring it up to the priest. I just couldn’t. So the following week, I had to things to confess, the second being that I couldn’t confess properly the week before. So, that second week, I tried to tell him, and he wouldn’t let me speak. Literally. As soon as the word ‘vagina’ was out of my mouth, the priest kept interrupting me. He wouldn’t even let me finish. He switched the conversation to homework and things like that.
My dorm room consisted of three other girls with whom I had become great friends. Being unable to confess my problem, I thought maybe I could at least carefully bring it up with them and get some opinions about what to do.
I really hadn’t said anything. Just something about wondering if the sand in the vagina tale was real, and that it made me feel ‘funny.’
Monica, with a kind of strange smile on her face asked, “What do you mean, ‘funny?'”
I tried explaining without saying anything, because as you can imagine, one, especially at that age, can’t really talk about such things.
By now, all the girls had stopped what they were doing, and listened with rapt attention. Monica allowed me to stumble though my little, halting explanation of what I felt. Then she said, “Oh, I know that tingle! Right here, right?” placing her fist right over vagina.
“Well… yeah, there.”
“Did you get wet?”
I’ll bet my cheeks turned three shades of red. That part I hadn’t mentioned. Hadn’t even allowed myself to think about. But it did indeed happen. That time when I heard about the sandy vagina thing, and a couple of times since, I felt a mysterious wetness between my legs.
Before I could answer, Monica said, “You were horny, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I get horny all the time.” Joanie added.
Amy, who had been silent up until then asked, “Do you know what to do about it?”
I thought she was asking like she wanted to know. But no, she had some information for us. Very interesting information indeed. That evening there in the dorm, I learned about masturbation.
Oh, no one did anything, but it was a very remarkable and eye-opening conversation. For a couple of weeks, the whole thing really occupied my mind. First, was it something a good Catholic girl could do? What would God think? I mean, according to Amy, most girls do it. But did they really? I doubted it. She said boys do it too. Oh my gosh! That thought kept coming back to me, and I got that crazy tingle wetness feeling several times. I kind of wanted to actually touch myself there. It felt like the natural thing to do, but I didn’t dare. Too crazy!
Days later, when I was starting to forget about the whole thing, around 10pm, an hour after lights-out, I heard a very quiet squish-squish kind of thing. I didn’t think anything about it. I had heard it before, but just assumed… well, I don’t know what. Maybe one of the girls was massaging a sore knee or something.
Suddenly a flashlight came on, Monica and Joanie were all giggles, and Amy screamed. As I looked over, I saw that the two of them had pulled off Amy’s blanket. It took a minute for me to comprehend, but Amy was bare from her T-shirt on down, and her hand was in front of her vagina.
Moments later, Amy had pulled the blanket back over herself, the other two girls quickly jumped back into their beds, and the door opened as Sister Marie stepped in and said, “Girls, you’re too loud. Keep it down in here.”
What I had seen was so alarming that I barely slept that night. No one said anything to anyone. Amy just glared at the two of them. A day later, the two girls fell all over themselves trying to apologize to Amy. I guess they realized that what they had done was horrible.
Here’s the thing: I couldn’t get it out of my mind – I mean the part of Amy doing what I could only assume was masturbating.
Monica and Joanie continued to be super-apologetic for a couple of days. Then one night when Joanie asked Amy how they could make it up to her she said something super-crazy. It just floored me: She said, “You’ve seen me jilling. Now I want to see you. Then we’ll be even.”
‘Jilling?’ It took me a moment to realize she was talking about masturbating.
Both girls shook their heads, ‘No.’
Amy’s answer: “Then I’m still totally mad at you. You so violated my privacy. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”
Perhaps she was being overly dramatic, but that’s what she said.
Nothing more happened. The next night, as we were drifting off to sleep, Monica quietly said, “I’ll do it if Joanie will.”
“Do what?” Amy asked.
“I’ll… um… I’ll jill… I’ll let you see me masturbating…” she hesitantly, and very quietly answered.
“You know what? I will do it… If Sondra will also.”
I practically jumped when she said my name in that context.
It took me what seemed like a long time to answer. I opened my mouth, thought better of it, then started again like three times. Finally I answered as truthfully as I knew, “It seems weird. Besides, I don’t even know what it is. Something with my vagina, right? No, I don’t think so.”
Yet another couple of days passed. Something must have come over Amy because in front of the other two girls she started explaining masturbation.
“So look. Um… So, you rub your pussy and it starts to feel really, really nice. The a sort of explosion comes over. I mean, a good explosion. I can’t explain it. It’s like sneezing but a million times better.”
It was the first time I had heard ‘pussy.’ It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was talking about her vagina. All of this talk was having that effect on me again. You know, where you get that tingle between your legs.
“Well,” I added, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Me too,” Monica admitted. “I haven’t really done it.”
Amy must have remained quite horny over the next couple of days, because she started working on us every night. Through insinuation, but never quite saying it, she indicated that we could learn to masturbate together, and she would show us how it’s done.
Maybe a week passed. Then Monica quietly piped in one night with, “Well, maybe I could help Amy show you. I mean, well… I’ve done it.”
I think everyone in the room was stunned. Nothing more happened for maybe five minutes. Then we heard some rustling around on Amy’s bed.
“Here,” is all she said as she turned on her flashlight and pointed it right between her legs. With her other hand, she was kind of petting the hair on her vagina.
I have to admit I was suddenly all tingles. I’m sure the others were too.
One thing led to another, and that night, after putting a a wedge-shaped doorstop under the door in case a nun might come around, which they never did unless we were too noisy, Amy and Monica showed Joanie and I how to masturbate.
With the sparkly eyes of all three girls watching intently, I, for the first time in my life put my hand between my legs for a purpose other than hygiene. I learned that the little bump is called the ‘clit’ and feeling the strongest tingle yet, and quite a bit of wetness, started rubbing in the little circles like Amy was doing.
It felt nice, and kind of a relief for the tingle, but nothing special. I quit rubbing.
“Keep going,” Monica practically yelled, in a strained whisper as to not bring the nuns to our room.
I figured ‘Why not?’ Then too, the tingle seemed to be taking over my brain. I somehow really wanted to do this. You’d think the invasion of privacy of having the three girls watching would put me off, but if anything it added to my excitement.
It didn’t hurt seeing them all naked. I must say, these girls had nice asses and legs. Monica and Joanie also had their bras off. What a sight!
Still nothing. Again, Monica told me to keep going. As I was doing so and becoming rather disinterested in continuing, suddenly Amy started moaning weirdly and arching her back. I didn’t understand and immedately asked the others, “What’s with her?”
“Watch!” Monica said.
So I watched, and Amy kept moaning, now even louder. So loud I thought it might bring the nuns around. She was moving her hand back and forth over her vagina so fast that her fingers were a blur. She was breathing heavy. Then it was over.
She laid back down on her bed. I noticed that her face had a sheen of sweat. She had an expression of something. I didn’t quite know if it was pain, or discomfort, or maybe it was bliss.
It was bliss. She looked at each of us in the eyes for a moment, then closed her own eyes and laid still.
Literally within a minute, Monica ended up doing something quite similar, although moaning almost not at all. But she too was stiffening all up and obviously in some sort of bliss.
Even if I didn’t understand what I was seeing, my body did. You might call it solidary. I’ll just call it the first orgasm of my life. My own moans were more like squeaks. Oh my god. I’m sure you know – the delicious fever-like chills, the toe-curling full-body contractions, and of course the feeling in what I came to know as my pussy.
As the years of high school passed, the four of us became ever more bold in our pursuits of personal pleasure. We learned what it feels like to have a finger or a tongue in our anuses, we learned about kissing, hugging, and everything that goes with sex. We got to study and watch each other give orgasms.
Either the nuns never found out, or more likely, they knew exactly what was going on in our dorm room and chose not to interrupt.
During those years I started wondering about boys. I had never seen a penis. This was in the days just before the Internet really caught on. There was no Wikipedia. Only Monica had ever seen a penis. She reported as best she could on what her brother’s penis looked like when a little earthquake caused him to run out of the shower, naked and in fright. Of course she had never seen it erect.
The one thing I knew is that I really, really liked masturbation, and thinking about all things sexual.
What a release it was to get out of high school. My parents could half-afford to send me to a good college, along with a student loan, and my grades were good. My first days at Berkeley were wonderful, but all academic. It was actually spooky for me, a Catholic girl, raised in a Catholic high school to be shoulder to shoulder with guys. They all seemed so big and tall.
I was invited to a party. I had never been to a party, but had seen parties in the movies. It seemed like a great idea.
I arrived by myself, and felt a little like, ‘I don’t know what to do,’ as I kind of hung back against a far wall just watching everyone else have fun. The music was loud. Too loud. People kept trying to hand me drinks, but I just didn’t feel ready for that yet.
A boy came up and said something in my ear. I couldn’t make out what he said with all the noise, I mean music. He shouted the same thing, and I still couldn’t make it out. Then he grabbed me by the hand, led me out of the building and on to the lawn where it would be easy to hear.
What he said was, “You look lonely. Would you like some company?”
OK, so I was naive, but I thought he really meant just company.
It turns out, he was naive also. He really did mean just company.
Freddy and I started hanging out and we became an item. I think the rest of the college community thought the two of us were rather weird. I mean, we were two peas in a pod. He liked sweaters. I liked sweaters. Sometimes, just for fun, we’d both wear our light blue sweaters. He was against alcohol. I mean really against it. He wouldn’t drink. He said his father set an example by drinking himself to death. Freddy did not want to follow in his footsteps. Me, well, I just didn’t feel ready to try alcohol yet so I totally supported Freddy in not drinking. That can be quite difficult when you’re surrounded by thousands of college kids who seemed focused on one thing: getting drunk. As if to justify their own interest in alcohol, they’ll try to get you drinking also.
It was about a month in when one of our hugging and kissing sessions turned into something more. When his pants came off, I orgasmed. I mean it. I saw his penis, which was already erect, and had that tingle between my legs so strongly that I immediately shuddered with a full-blown orgasm.
So, the first penis I ever saw was erect. It was weird-looking alright. I had no idea how a guy could hide such a thing in his pants, not realizing that erect isn’t their usual state. I reached out to touch it. How could I resist? I had no idea what to do. First I touched what I assumed was his peehole right on the tip with my fingertip. He shuddered, and I backed off right away. Did that hurt him? No, it was a sexual shudder. Then, I wrapped my hand around it. It was so warm! So soft on the outside, and hard on the inside. It started kind of expanding and contracting a little in my grip. Interesting. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Then white stuff spurted out of his peehole. I jumped back in fright. He explained that’s what makes girls pregnant. Fascinating!
We didn’t have condom with us plus we had both orgasmed and were satisfied, so we just laid naked in the bed, hugged, and promptly fell asleep.
It didn’t take us long to figure out what humans have been figuring out for thousands of years. We did manage to get condoms. Together we learned how to use them. We learned so much more, too. We found out how nice oral sex is, giving and getting, I got to watch him pee, which I just loved seeing. He got to watch me pee. I was a little self-conscious so it took me a minute to just let the stream flow. But, oh what fun, exploring each other. In time, we had fingers, toys of various sorts, and his penis in every hole and in every situation imagineable.
I switched my major. I had been studying pre-med and wasn’t really liking it. It was just something I thought I might as well do – become a doctor. I decided I was to become a psychologist. Not just any psychologist. I was going to specialize in sexuality. I wanted to learn everything in the world about sex.
Freddy and I didn’t last. He was sort of forced to try some cocaine at a party one night. No big deal, right? But then a few weeks later, cocaine was offered to him again. He decided since the first time didn’t hurt him any, he’d just go ahead. One thing led to another, and within a year my beautiful Freddy became a drug addict. The poor guy was taking cocaine to get high, then he’d follow that up with heroine to get low. He used up all his money in short order, and had taken to shoplifting. Really! I tried reasoning with him, tried getting him in a treatment program, tried an intervention, nothing worked. In fact, it was the attempted intervention that broke us up. He was so mad at me!
Freddy taught me that I don’t want to go that route. I’ve never even tried anything alcoholic, nothing smoky, and certainly no drugs. The guys I’m with these days think it’s cute, or maybe quaint that I won’t do those things. When they’re with me, I insist they don’t either. If they want to fuck, they’ll have to comply, and they all do.
The one major thing I learned from Freddy is just how amazing it is to have a cock in you. I mean, I’ve tried sex toys of various descriptions, brush handles, and of course fingers of all descriptions, both from my Catholic school days and Freddy’s fingers, but nothing satisfies like a cock in the cunt. Pardon my language!
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I realized I like sex. I mean, I really like sex, everything about it. I like talking about it, thinking about it, seeing it on the Internet, you name it. I like sex! Because I had a real interest, maybe you might even think of it as a calling, I was a very good student through my college days.
The one thing, though, is I couldn’t get enough. I dated a few guys and we fucked, and it was nice. But it was too few and far between in my opinion. One of the guys was a sort of male nymphomaniac. This guy could cum three times in a single night, and often did. We’d fuck, we’d fall asleep, then at 2 in the morning, he’d want more. You get to a point where enough is enough. Or, at least enough of the same guy, the same way, night after night. This nympho guy liked missionary sex. He didn’t want oral, he didn’t want different positions, he didn’t want to try anything new. Boring!
So, I couldn’t get enough, and yet, it had to be good or why bother?
There was very little mention of prostitution in my studies. You see, to become a psychologist specializing in sexuality, most of what you learn is ordinary psychology, not sexual stuff. But there were a few paragraphs, and one of them kind of woke me up.
The whole world talks negatively about prostitution. But why? What’s wrong with it? If you think of the concept intellectually, logically, it’s only the side-effects that are negative. Prostitution so often involves drugs, as I mentioned earlier. It can break up marriages. One can get diseases.
The idea of prostitution started rolling around in my mind. Might I like to play with that? Might it even be profitable? You see, my parents had been able to put me through Catholic high school, but the family business was a bookstore, and business was not doing great now that Kindle and all that ebook stuff was coming around. It got so bad that they had to lay off their two employees and my sister went to work in the bookstore. I had a $150,000 student loan to pay off. Hmmm, I was thinking, what if I could make a dent in that loan while playing with prostitution. Crazy, eh?
I put a notice on Craigslist kind of hinting at what I was offering. A guy wrote back. We wrote back and forth like six times, while I started realizing it was a stupid idea. Before we even met, I changed my mind and dropped him.
It took me a year to get up the gumption to actually play with this whoring idea. I thought about it and though more about it. It was becoming an obsession, yet I hadn’t taken one step to act on it. Well, I did take one step. I realized I could get in trouble, real physical trouble with random guys. So, I took up Judo, then switched to women’s self-defense classes, and finally to Karate. It was my physical education, and frankly, I was having a blast. Who knew that I’d end up becoming rather expert in self-defense? Sure, I got bumped around a lot, and even sprained an ankle once, but I was having the time of my life. Well sort of. I still wasn’t getting enough sex.
In fact, it was a fellow karate student that became my first client. I had gone out with him to a pizza place, and we had an enjoyable and long conversation. In fact, I was hoping he’d invite me somewhere so we could fuck. I would have liked that. Instead, we just kept talking. I spilled out my thoughts about wanting to become a prostitute. To his credit, he didn’t act shocked. Instead, he offered to become my first client. He only had $20 to spare, but I wasn’t complaining. I never mentioned that I would have had sex with him for free.
We went to his dorm room, he kicked out his roommate, and we were literally naked and fucking within five minutes. No fanfare, no foreplay. He just wanted to jump right into me. I thought that was weird, but a minute later, I was in absolute joy as I felt his warm, hard, throbbing cock deep in my body. Oh, my god! He had no idea how much I got out of this, even though he came and was out of me within two more minutes.
This guy had friends. Quicker that you can say “Fuck me hard!” I had a huge clientele. I fucked my way entirely out of my student loan by the time I graduated. For the first year, I was sure I’d get in trouble with one of these guys. I’d have to use my Karate skills. But it never happened. I also feared STDs. It worried me like crazy, so I was always super-clean, insisted that the guys take showers first, I used antiseptic creams, and literally had the guys wear two condoms. That kind of squeezes their dicks nicely. Although they may complain at first, they all seem to like it in the end.
One of the advantages of being a whore is the variety. Not all guys want missionary position within the first minute. Some want long foreplay sessions. Some are really weird with their own fetishes. More than one guy has paid me to just watch him jerk off, or to just wank myself while he watches. Some are very oral. Some aren’t oral at all.
Maybe because I was brought up Catholic and I thought for the longest time that everything sexual was dirty, I particularly enjoy the dirtiest sex of all: I just love being fucked in the ass. I can easily orgasm just from that. In fact, I more likely will orgasm from anal than vaginal sex.
You see, I don’t always orgasm. I have gotten to a point where I still totally enjoy the company of these guys and I always love the fulfilling feeling of a penis inside me, but I just don’t orgasm every time any more. And it’s all good.
Something I’ve been enjoying lately, but it’s still rather rare, is the occasional female client. That’s right. There are women who pay to have sex with me. Oh, I love licking out a woman until she has multiple orgasms brought on by my tongue!
Now that I’m getting older, I know I’ll lose my looks soon. In fact I already am, but I still have no shortage of clients. Now, they’re mostly older men. These are guys who are uglier than I am!
I have recently dusted off my PhD, and have been doing some private consultation for people who have, or imagine they have sexual disorders.
I’ve been accepted into Berkeley’s psychology program as a professor of the sexual psychology program. I guess the books I wrote helped my reputation as a sexual expert. I’ll start teaching this autumn. I’m so looking forward to that!