The Priest and the Prostitute

After my performance the other night, a friend and I went into town seeking somewhere to dance and have one last drink. The city was as like The Specials song, a ghost town. There were no fuggy places to frequent, everywhere contained dregs of meandering drunk people seemingly confused at their whereabouts or loitering around the hot-dog stands. It was useless, as we trooped from one venue to the next finally setting on one more to try until I gave up, admitting that I was tired and bored, still wearing my priests outfit with fishnets and knickers underneath, I said to my friend "I'm going to a brothel, would you mind giving me a lift", he obliged being that his experience with them was all too familiar. He dropped me around the corner from an establishment that I had been to before, hence my reasoning to go there.

The first ever time I went to a brothel was not a full service venue, it was tug 'n' rub, and I still remember vividly the girl who served me, and the beautiful feeling of being projected out into the dark night smelling of cheap massage oil. I remember her face was caked with powdery foundation to disguise problematic skin, and the funny name she used, and the large black and white picture of Marilyn Monroe on the wall, and the mirrored ceiling. The second time I visited a brothel was when a pathological user of them and good friend of mine urged me to try it at least once. I gave in to temptation one boozy night and had incredibly rigorous bonking until the buzzer went off and she quite flatly told me to hurry up because that was the "ten minutes to go call", a mood breaker, but I wasn't in the Ritz of ill fame and it altogether suited the adventure.

The following experiences I have had with them include working in one doing the live sex shows, massage and tug. Visiting one with my partner at the time and having a threesome. Being shouted a session by a friend. Visiting one to see my partner at the time who was working there. So all in all pretty eclectic and being that I myself am registered as a Sex Worker and have been employed as such, it is pretty normal I would expect to also have no bones about on the very odd occasion popping in for some retail therapy. Tell me of a Chef who has never dined in another restaurant other then his own?

It must seem strange though for someone who usually always takes to shagging every few days, someone who readily undresses for evenings of Swinger play, and who actively reclines cock in hand for some pornographic thrills to be seen paying for sex, but for me, it's a sexual treat that has a whole atmosphere of its own. It's something I'd be likely to do only once year if I had extra cash to gamble, and is an industry I whole heartily support as a genuine established sexual genre of its own.

There are lots of things that are appealing about going to a brothel, the ancient history of its practice, the standing under the red light buzzing the door, the madam or mister depending on whose at desk stomping to the door, the waiting rooms, the introductions, the garish interiors, the bustling in and out of strange looking men, the coy glances of fellow clientele, and then the entire process of following a chosen Sex Worker into the room to proceed with the business of cracking a few kinks in the old winky.

I went up the steps and stood under the red light, pressing the buzzer. The madam stomped her way to the door, opened it briskly, letting me in. "Have you been here before?" she asked, I told her that I had, indeed I had been to that particular venue twice, there's no point in lying to sex industry professionals because whether you tell a fib or the truth, it doesn't phase them, it's not relevant to the pricing or exchange in words, they have a job to do, and you are it.

I noticed that the original waiting room had changed, they had turned it into an extra bedroom. This must be to cater for increased business or other parts of the building are being leased out for specialised services. I was told only one girl was free at the time. The girl came in, gave her introduction in three seconds flat and whisked herself away almost curtsying with her turn. I would have liked a few introductions as that is part of the charm of choosing.

A naughty gag my friend and I used to play many, many years ago which was quite rude but we were selfishly only looking to please ourselves which now looking back I feel dreadful that we did it, but we'd go and receive about ten introductions, watch a skimpy show, hear some explicit descriptions of services, and then run my credit card through which was maxed thus unable to fulfill a transaction and with befuddled looks on our faces make an exit feeling all clever and aroused inside. It was rather pathetic, I make no argument with that - especially having many years afterwards had to deal with the same idiotic behavior from clients calling my own sex show service.

Where was I? Ah yes, the one girl now gone, was replaced by a troop of Indian men bustling down the hallway, some of them wearing the turbans which with my limited knowledge on religious ware doesn't equate to being necessarily religious I think, there is after-all a Rate my Turban website. However in my University days I had a few friends who regarded themselves as "weekend Muslims", that is only Muslim during important religious events or around their family, my friend in the UAE has discovered this also. So, funny that there I was as a priest with possibly fellow holy men having a bit of sin on the side.

Those chaps having left obviously freed the time of another Sex Worker and out she bounded giving me a quick sell that lasted about four seconds and then achieving the same degree of whisk as the first girl she bounded off. I called out the name she had introduced herself as, Mimi, and she paused halfway tossing her head back at me responding with a "Yes?" that seemed friendly, and so asking her if she did full service of which she did, I decided that Mimi it was.

It's all Mimi, Mimi isn't it when it comes to luxuriating myself, I chuckled, and when the madam returned I was shown through to reception. As I passed over a wad of cash I noticed a young man hunched over in the second waiting room. He looked sorrowful, and I was in such a chipper mood, I couldn't help but smile at him. He cranked his eyes forward and averted his gaze. "First casualty of testosterone" I thought to myself. He shouldn't be embarrassed to be here! It's wonderful to have dens of debauchery, I feel more comfortable walking into a brothel then I do a supermarket, actually that's not true, I rather enjoy browsing the shelves of supermarkets. I feel more comfortable being in a brothel then I do a bank. A bit of irony there for you.

Anyway, Mimi came and got me from reception and I was directed into a bedroom. "I'll get unchanged and have a shower then" I said eagerly preempting the drill. "I have to inspect your penis first" she told me sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was fairly bare of essential brothel tack which disappointed me somewhat.

As I slid my trousers down I began explaining what fishnets and a pair of knickers with love-hearts were doing underneath. "This isn't my kink" I said unconvincingly, "I had a performance tonight and it was part of my costume". I forgot to take off the boots first, so there I was in lower-drag wear trying to unzip a big pair of black boots whilst blathering something to do with spoken word and the like - I finally got everything removed from around my crotch. As she sniffed around my groin looking for signs of pubis of the dog that bit me I had the further task of undoing the corset that was underneath my shirt. As I said before, it doesn't matter a toss what you tell a Sex Worker, it's all the same, legit or not, the game played is an act by both parties, most of the time.

All clear I stepped into the shower for a refresh. Mimi disappeared for some time, and I lounged in my nakedness on the bed. To prepare I opened one condom and a lube satchel. Finally Mimi returned telling me not to worry as the time began when she got back. I was relieved, I wasn't going to get the buzzer again. Mimi wore a tight red dress, she was from Thailand and saving money to go up to Sydney for some reason I didn't ask.

There was no sexy dancing, no slow strip, she removed her clothes and reclined. I ran my hand across her body, and she jiggled my cock with her hand in the same manner as one does with a tea-bag. I needed to kick start this session seriously or otherwise be gonged by the timer. I played with her cunt which moistened surprisingly fast, and then asked if she accepted oral, I was using the old give oral whilst jerking myself hard trick of which every male virtually is aware of. She asked me if I had brushed my teeth. What an odd question I thought. Then it occurred to me she might have confused my question with wanting to kiss. I reiterated that I meant oral as in going down on her. "Not if you haven't brushed your teeth" she responded again. Oh well, I thought, what an odd bit of bed talk we had just had.

That only made things worse, as I was struggling to find the how you say Je ne sais quoi of the moment that would inspire my half flaccid cock to ignite under the stringent formality of this arrangement. It was like being massaged by someone who practices Reiki, you just want to bark out "Knead, knead, knead, knead for crying out loud".

I had to do something, the clock was ticking, the pennies were dropping, and so I pounced up onto my knees and working my cock in one hand I stimulated her with the other. It was working because she was condensing heavily and I thought how can this be, I'm practically dredging my ball's sack to find the hidden charm in this encounter and she's pouring all over the place. Finally I got hard enough to put on a condom, "Condom" I said to myself reaching over for the one I had already prepared but procedure got in the way. She saw that the packet was already opened and grabbed another one, this understandable but halting moment of confusion broke my contained rigidity, I quickly ripped open the one she had handed me and forced it over. Then she passed me some lube, I applied that in order to fluff enough sturdiness to attempt penetration. I was in and fucking, and she began her series of orgasmic sighs.

The hastiness of the action had already damned my steadfastness and I deflated as I flopped beside her, my head swimming with suitable alternatives to the session failing the simple task of a fuck.

I decided to relax, and playing with myself I ran my other hand over body, squeezing her breasts and touching her cunt. She started talking, "Oh no" I'm doomed I thought, this was possibly the worst thing that could break my mood and the subject of her talk made matters worse. She began telling me of clients who would admit to her about their wife and kids, clients who declare never having set foot in a brothel, clients telling her they are virgins, clients unable to get hard because they are so embarrassed at being there - I was wanking against a gale - my mind finally switched into other thoughts letting her words drift "across the universe", then by magic of some kind of reflexive discourse I had created in my mind, up, up, up it went.

I snatched another condom, tore it open, rolled it on, and flipped into position for penetration. The look on her face was almost of smugness and relief, as if she had orchestrated that whole conversation to spring me into action. There was some vigilant fucking on my behalf to the hoots from her end, and a gift of climax for me, making sure I went off before the bell.

I didn't put my fishnets, undies, or corset back on. I carried them to reception, asked for a glass of water, drank it, explained that the corset, fishnets and undies were mine and not stolen from the room. I then marched out onto the city streets feeling amused, delighted, and somewhat invigorated from my expedition.