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Whore Is A Compliment

I like sex and money. <3

Then I started whoring. The funny, ironic, completely batshit thing here is that you wouldn’t imagine fucking a guy you’re not at all into to be a turn on — but it was.

Okay, so that’s a lie. I was masturbating to orgasm from a fairly early age, but being able to climax was a sporadic ability for me. At thirteen I’d imagine Jesus was watching me angrily; at fifteen I was too focused on imagining how I’d please some boy based on what I’d read in Cosmo; at twenty I had just resigned myself to the fact that, for whatever reason, I spent so much time thinking during sex that my intellectualism pushed out any possibility of feeling during sex.

Then I started whoring. The funny, ironic, completely batshit thing here is that you wouldn’t imagine fucking a guy you’re not at all into to be a turn on — but it was. I wasn’t thinking about:

Does he love me?

Am I pretty enough?

How am I doing?

Wow, he’s so great.

I was thinking, “I’m not so into him, so I guess I’ll just close my eyes and focus on the sensations.”

That was something I’d never been able to do before — shut my mind down enough to stop thinking of goddamn England and start losing myself in feeling.

I remember the first time a client got me to cum. It was one of the customers that loves giving oral (which I’d previously thought I didn’t enjoy — hello self-consciousness!) to the exclusion of all else. I was lying on the hotel bed thinking to myself that, since he was really enjoying himself, I might as well just let him. I knew he wanted to lick me as long as possible and therefore he wouldn’t be thinking, “Hurry up, let’s get to my cock!” Also, more importantly, I didn’t really care if he was thinking that. Why would I? He was just a customer, and while customer service is important and all, worrying about making a customer happy is not even remotely like worrying about making a lover happy.

Back to my internal monologue. “Wow, he really likes this. He’s kind of good at it. Not very attractive, but — oh! That was nice.”

And I came. When I opened my eyes and smiled at him, I realized how proud he was of himself from the tell-tale crinkling around his eyes as he grinned. I reached towards his cock and — surprise of all surprises — he said, “Maybe next time,” before pulling away and putting on his pants.

That was a nice session. More importantly, it changed me into someone capable of feeling my own body. If you’re lucky enough to have always been in tune with your body, that probably sounds like a no-brainer, but it wasn’t for me. He accidentally provided a greater service for me than I did for him, AND I got some cash out of the deal.

So THANK YOU client whose name I don’t remember! You were pretty cool.

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