Knowledge is my friend and enemy in brothelising.
You can whisper lies in my ear and I don't care.
You can fake an orgasm and I won't care.
You can pretend to groan with pleasure as my cock enters you and I won't care.
I want to come to you pure and unassuming but I can no longer do that.
I have been with too many Working Girls.
You can tell me anything you like. I don't care and I don't believe you. I just want your service. I just want to have sex with you.
And you ---- You just want my money, meet your budget, and get on with your life.
If I were a fool I could take all those gestures: the orgasmic cries, the tender whispers of satisfaction, the groan as my cock enters you, and write them up as evidence of your satisfaction in the sex we had.
But I am not a fool, for I believe none of it.
Or am I a fool?
For would it not be as equally stupid to deny precious moments as it would be to falsely claim them?
Who would deny this? The fool or the wizened punter?
When her skin is wet from fucking me with passion and the moisture transfers to my lips. When her eyes are half closed and she looks at me - not with impatience, not with pretence - but a moment of understanding and care between two humans. When she reaches up to put her hand around my neck and drawers my face to hers to kiss me. When we wrap our arms around each other and she so tenderly melts into me. When our bodies understand each other and our breathing is in union.
Listen to me: I must be a fool! Either that or the dirty cloud of cynicism that has taken so many people in this industry hasn't quite enveloped me yet.
But sometimes it feels as though all the cynics and the world-weary voices should be ordered into silence as something that transcends the commercial transaction takes place.
Ah yes: Always the commercial transaction.
Yet somehow when you are stripped naked and stand before each other it doesn't seem to matter.
But this is a room in a brothel. Only a fool would think there is reality in here.
"I'm too new to this. I cannot lie. I'm hopeless at it", she told me.
"Neither can I", I lied. "Besides I can't be bothered lying" I continued " If I'm unhappy I let you know. If I'm happy I let you know" At least that is true.
"I have learnt that if I am open with my expression in the room, I have found kind response" I told her. That too was true.
Yasmin said: "There are so many lies in this industry because not many people can accept the raw honesty of what is happening".
Then lets us just be honest with each other and dismiss our reservations. And then I'll write about it and give every knowing cynic that reads it the shits! Fuck em!
********
Room Number 2 at Hallam Penthouse is rich with good fortune for me. Last Autumn, Emily (who was mind blowing), and then another lady who I have seen three times in this room who has asked me never to write about her but whose service is impeccable.
And today: Yasmin. (her spelling)
Come to think of it, all three of the ladies I have seen in this room have had a similarity in another way. All about a size 12. Horny curvy women - and that's the way Yasmin looks too.
She was great in the introduction. You'd take her for a kindergarten teacher or the girl next door. Blonde. Dressed with class in a black dress that didn't reveal too much - but enough to arouse. Sweet and polite but with a tempting aura that said "scratch the surface and see what you get". I decided to scratch it
This is what I got:
A girl who laughed at me when she returned to the room and found me naked. Pretty scary start hey? Well I was looking in the mirror at the time so I deserved it. Oh it's only a small mirror to check your face.
"What ya doing?" She laughed.
"Making sure I look nice for you" I reassured her. It being later in the afternoon I was actually rather concerned that the old five-o-clock shadow might be giving me the gangster look. But seeing that every second male model goes out of his way to culture such a look I guess I shouldn't be overly concerned (except I look nothing like a male model).
We laughed.
"You look fine" she reassured me.
She asked me if I want a massage.
"No, I'd rather have sex please."
So it was off with the dress and straight into it.
We lay next to each other. Heads propped up with crooked arm as we quietly chat.
Lets' go in for a kiss, I thought mmmmmwaaa
Well that went well. Now we can really warm up.
Kisses down her body (you already know where I'm headed).
Mmmmmmffffff
Well she seemed happy to enough to take it and as always I was more than happy to give it. So DATY it was for the next fifteen minutes or so until the shared objective was reached.
And then we kissed deeply
Am I a fool? Would it not be as equally stupid to deny precious moments, as it would be to falsely claim them?
.and she pushed me back so that she could "devour me" I think is the expression she used. Having used the term she proved it to me as she took me in her mouth and set me to groaning in appreciation.
Culminating in a missionary bonk it became very special: I search myself for the words to explain it. And the words that are absent of lies are the same words I used to justify my refusal to accept that it is all lies.
When her skin is wet from fucking me with passion and the moisture transfers to my lips. When her eyes are half closed and she looks at me - not with impatience, not with pretence - but a moment of understanding and care between two humans. When she reaches up to put her hand around my neck and drawers my face to hers to kiss me. When we wrap our arms around each other and she so tenderly melts into me. When our bodies understand each other and our breathing is union.
Sometimes the lying is transparent. Sometimes it is terribly convincing.
Sometimes it's not lying at all. It just is.
Sometimes we have to admit that we really are enjoying each other.
Knowledge is my friend and enemy in punting but mostly my friend. Especially when I let myself learn from others.
This is her job but we are a man and a woman.
This is my paid indulgence but we are a man and a woman.
We are a man and a woman in this room (Yeah okay cynics - a room in a brothel).
These are her words: "There are so many lies in this industry because not many people can accept the raw honesty of what is happening".
I think Yasmin is right.
You can whisper lies in my ear and I don't care.
You can fake an orgasm and I won't care.
You can pretend to groan with pleasure as my cock enters you and I won't care.
I want to come to you pure and unassuming but I can no longer do that.
I have been with too many Working Girls.
You can tell me anything you like. I don't care and I don't believe you. I just want your service. I just want to have sex with you.
And you ---- You just want my money, meet your budget, and get on with your life.
If I were a fool I could take all those gestures: the orgasmic cries, the tender whispers of satisfaction, the groan as my cock enters you, and write them up as evidence of your satisfaction in the sex we had.
But I am not a fool, for I believe none of it.
Or am I a fool?
For would it not be as equally stupid to deny precious moments as it would be to falsely claim them?
Who would deny this? The fool or the wizened punter?
When her skin is wet from fucking me with passion and the moisture transfers to my lips. When her eyes are half closed and she looks at me - not with impatience, not with pretence - but a moment of understanding and care between two humans. When she reaches up to put her hand around my neck and drawers my face to hers to kiss me. When we wrap our arms around each other and she so tenderly melts into me. When our bodies understand each other and our breathing is in union.
Listen to me: I must be a fool! Either that or the dirty cloud of cynicism that has taken so many people in this industry hasn't quite enveloped me yet.
But sometimes it feels as though all the cynics and the world-weary voices should be ordered into silence as something that transcends the commercial transaction takes place.
Ah yes: Always the commercial transaction.
Yet somehow when you are stripped naked and stand before each other it doesn't seem to matter.
But this is a room in a brothel. Only a fool would think there is reality in here.
"I'm too new to this. I cannot lie. I'm hopeless at it", she told me.
"Neither can I", I lied. "Besides I can't be bothered lying" I continued " If I'm unhappy I let you know. If I'm happy I let you know" At least that is true.
"I have learnt that if I am open with my expression in the room, I have found kind response" I told her. That too was true.
Yasmin said: "There are so many lies in this industry because not many people can accept the raw honesty of what is happening".
Then lets us just be honest with each other and dismiss our reservations. And then I'll write about it and give every knowing cynic that reads it the shits! Fuck em!
********
Room Number 2 at Hallam Penthouse is rich with good fortune for me. Last Autumn, Emily (who was mind blowing), and then another lady who I have seen three times in this room who has asked me never to write about her but whose service is impeccable.
And today: Yasmin. (her spelling)
Come to think of it, all three of the ladies I have seen in this room have had a similarity in another way. All about a size 12. Horny curvy women - and that's the way Yasmin looks too.
She was great in the introduction. You'd take her for a kindergarten teacher or the girl next door. Blonde. Dressed with class in a black dress that didn't reveal too much - but enough to arouse. Sweet and polite but with a tempting aura that said "scratch the surface and see what you get". I decided to scratch it
This is what I got:
A girl who laughed at me when she returned to the room and found me naked. Pretty scary start hey? Well I was looking in the mirror at the time so I deserved it. Oh it's only a small mirror to check your face.
"What ya doing?" She laughed.
"Making sure I look nice for you" I reassured her. It being later in the afternoon I was actually rather concerned that the old five-o-clock shadow might be giving me the gangster look. But seeing that every second male model goes out of his way to culture such a look I guess I shouldn't be overly concerned (except I look nothing like a male model).
We laughed.
"You look fine" she reassured me.
She asked me if I want a massage.
"No, I'd rather have sex please."
So it was off with the dress and straight into it.
We lay next to each other. Heads propped up with crooked arm as we quietly chat.
Lets' go in for a kiss, I thought mmmmmwaaa
Well that went well. Now we can really warm up.
Kisses down her body (you already know where I'm headed).
Mmmmmmffffff
Well she seemed happy to enough to take it and as always I was more than happy to give it. So DATY it was for the next fifteen minutes or so until the shared objective was reached.
And then we kissed deeply
Am I a fool? Would it not be as equally stupid to deny precious moments, as it would be to falsely claim them?
.and she pushed me back so that she could "devour me" I think is the expression she used. Having used the term she proved it to me as she took me in her mouth and set me to groaning in appreciation.
Culminating in a missionary bonk it became very special: I search myself for the words to explain it. And the words that are absent of lies are the same words I used to justify my refusal to accept that it is all lies.
When her skin is wet from fucking me with passion and the moisture transfers to my lips. When her eyes are half closed and she looks at me - not with impatience, not with pretence - but a moment of understanding and care between two humans. When she reaches up to put her hand around my neck and drawers my face to hers to kiss me. When we wrap our arms around each other and she so tenderly melts into me. When our bodies understand each other and our breathing is union.
Sometimes the lying is transparent. Sometimes it is terribly convincing.
Sometimes it's not lying at all. It just is.
Sometimes we have to admit that we really are enjoying each other.
Knowledge is my friend and enemy in punting but mostly my friend. Especially when I let myself learn from others.
This is her job but we are a man and a woman.
This is my paid indulgence but we are a man and a woman.
We are a man and a woman in this room (Yeah okay cynics - a room in a brothel).
These are her words: "There are so many lies in this industry because not many people can accept the raw honesty of what is happening".
I think Yasmin is right.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
This made me giggle:
A warm breath on my neck gives me goosebumps. = Haaaaaaaaaaaa