More than sex
By sciencehooker, Sep 20 2017 07:13PM
I had such a wonderful date the other night, I want to share it, as, for me, it sums up my experience sex work.
A text tells me he is waiting outside in the car. Butterflies flitter around my tummy and I go downstairs, am discreetly given the fee and a huge bunch of flowers. We drive off.
Pulling up at the entrance of a fine Italian restaurant I get out and he tells me how beautiful I look and that he is glad I have become part of his life. His full of kind eyes and a soft deep voice. I melt a little.
I choose the veal and he orders the best red wine I have ever tasted. It is like sweet oak and cherries. Legs slide against each other under the table and I feel myself a little wet as his hand rests on my thigh. We order strong coffee and yummy ice cream.
After, we go to the cinema and I relish cosying my head against his arm as he gently touches me. Fingers exploring under my dress. The darkness hides all. When we leave I notice I vacate a damp chair.
At his home, malt whisky is poured, I taste peat and then his lips. Delicacy soon becomes passion. My dress and bra has gone. I barely noticed. I remember wanting him so much. Wanting to taste him. All of him.
In the bedroom he is the boss. No timidity. My body is moved to where he wants it, when he wants it. Pounding hard. My breath pushed out of me. My ankles end up on either side of his head. He shoves harder and we lock in intense eye contact. I am fucked with force. He owns me at that moment. I feel him cum hard. Collapsing bodies. Sweat. Gentle caresses. An hour of sleep.
We coffee and he drops me off back to my flat with a loving kiss.
Sex work can be gentle, warm, butterflies, care, kindness. Hot erotica and emotional care.
I am ever so glad to have this vocation.
To be gifted these experiences.
Sex work is work.
Sex work can be loving and caring.
Sex work can be what you make it.
That woman of loneliness and mystery,
scarce seen to smile,
and seldom heard to sigh.
She knew herself a villain,
but deemed the rest no better than the thing she seemed,
and scorned the best as hypocrites
who hid those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
She knew herself detested,
but she knew the hearts that loathed her,
crouched and dreaded too.
Lone wild and strange,
she stood alike exempt from all affection and from all contempt.