Dear gentleman I went on a date with

12 Oct

Dear real life gentleman I went on a date with,

You know about the job I have had for the past year.
You know I fake orgasms when I get paid to do so.
In the last year or so, I’ve hit on approximately four hundred men.
I’ve slept with less than 250 but more than 100. (This is a rough estimate.)
I’ve walked down the halls with a handful of Benjamins, trying to contain my glee.
I’ve been slipped 20 dollar increments every five minutes underneath a bar, just to talk to a guy who thinks I’m too good for this business.
I gave my first and last lap dance where I got turned on by a girl.
I’ve had a dick in my mouth, and a dick below my waist at the same time…and realized that threesomes with guys take too much work.
I had my first and only lesbian experience to date. Which was also a threesome…and I realized…I don’t like crazy old lesbians.

I’ve been asked “Would you like a drink?” at least 300 times, and probably 99 of those times I have taken up the offer for a drink….and instead of getting a real alcoholic beverage, I’ve ordered fake wine, only to feign drunkenness.

I’ve been tested for STDs at least 42 times. As of three weeks ago, I can assure you that I had none, and likely still have none. I have the paperwork from Planned Parenthood to prove it.

Of all the men I’ve slept with in the last year, the most memorable one was a cab driver who I fucked on his birthday…or maybe it was the French man who I told “kissing me involves paying me double.” So he believed it, paid me double, and I was thrilled.

There was also the guy who just won at gambling, and right before Thanksgiving last year, when I had barely made any money the whole weekend, he came in.

I made more money in two hours than I had made any weekend before or since that time. He gave me something to truly be thankful for: The ability to enjoy my Thanksgiving without worrying about money.

The biggest crush I’ve had in the last year is the fellow who came in to my work who I recognized from real life.
We don’t know where our paths crossed at one point, but I genuinely liked this guy, and genuinely was interested.

Our first date was going to the brothel next door.
I sat with this young guy for hours hoping he would pay for sex.

He never did.

The security guard then told me that in real life, men are always the ones who ask the women out, so when they come to a brothel, they want a woman who takes charge. In a brothel, they want it the other way around.

Hearing him say “guys are the ones to be the dominant ones” came as a surprise to me, because I couldn’t remember the last time outside of a brothel I experienced it like that.

In my real life, I’m always the one taking charge.
Of the conquests I have had in real life, it’s been because I was the one to show some interest. Maybe they showed interest at first, but I removed all traces of doubt.

And now……NOW….I’m trying to do things differently.
I’m trying NOT to be the girl that unhooks the belt and undoes the all-too-difficult Levi’s button.
I’m trying NOT to be the first one who lets my hands foray below the waist.

I’m trying not to be a whore, and it is by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.

The fact that I turned down your offer to go to your house when I was too drunk to drive was a goddamn miracle.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve turned down sex (or the potential for sex), except with the guy who has the giant creepy mustache.

So I’m handing the torch over to you, dear gentleman.

Please be the whore first and save me from miles of agony.

If you will unbutton the first button, deal with the unruly jeans, unclasp the first hook, and give me the experience of what it feels like to be a normal girl,

I might hate attempting to be normal….
but dammit….you can’t blame me for wanting to try.

Brothel Babe


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