The Attraction of Prostitutes
March 14th 2011 12:22
What is it about hoes?
Tiger……Hugh Grant…….Charlie Sheen………Me. It’s our common vice. We’re flawed beings with an unhealthy penchant for skanks. We can’t get enough of that grubby filth despite the sleazy surrounds, forbidden connotations and let’s be honest – the crummy sex.
Maybe it’s different for Tiger and Tiger Blood forking out $10,000 an escort. Money talks. But for humble ol’ me, I’m not even allowed the pleasure of kissing, licking and unprotected sex. Ok, maybe it’s for the best but you get my drift. Sex sucks. It is watered down and unless you luck out with a sex fiend, the prostitute is simply doing it for the money.
Fair enough. The typical worker gives a half arse effort in their job, why should prostitutes be any different. But $$ex is passionless and after the initial tender thrust (the period of vulnerability when you are scared shitless of premature ejaculation) feels like banging air.
Jacking off is more effective. I’m not trying to sound crass but their flaps are loose. Because it’s their job. It’s no different to a mechanic’s permanent charcoal hands.
I’ve done six in as many weeks. Only comed twiced. Not a good ratio. Admittedly I’ve been off my head for each instance but I’m not aware of alcohol causing lack of libido.
So you must think I’m insane. Why do it? I know, I know…..what you are thinking. No I can get action without paying for it. I’m no Brad Pitt but I’ve had my fair share of scores cost free.
But there’s something about the sleazy side of smut. There’s an allure. I’ve been tempted by prostitutes in the past. Orchard Towers in Singapore was one hell of a place seeking sexual desires. But I still couldn’t consign myself to relieving hard earned dosh for sex. I wouldn’t let my dick do all the talking.
But I finally cracked last year. I visited a brothel for work purposes (it’s true, darn it). I didn’t go through with the business but the temptation tipped me over the edge. A few months of resisting the urge failed. It is liberating living on the edge.
Venturing to the whorehouse is like hopping on a rollercoaster. The lead up is masked by anxiety and fear but the aftermath follows unbridled ecstasy kick-started by adrenalin rivalling any drug high.
It is a scary thing going to an unknown brothel. Is this place safe? Is it owned by gangsters? Will it be raided by police while I’m in the midst of cracking? Will I be setup? Will someone recognise me? These are the questions that wreck the brain.
The heart pounds and the body quivers with trepidation every time I approach the compound. Yet I love that feeling. I was never destined to be an athlete but I can imagine the emotion similar on match day. A deadly combination of adrenaline and anxiety. It’s no wonder sport stars can’t retire on top (no pun intended).
Why do people love Vegas? Because it’s Sin City. Remember when mum said don’t touch the hot stove? What did you do? Touched the damn stove.
That is the fundamental reason I believe these mega stars engage in this trash. Of course they can tap action. They can have the hottest and most desirable women fantasies are made of it. But there is no danger. Prostitutes fill in the gap. It is give and take. Bad sex but adrenalin kick.
But every vice has its limits. And breaking point.
I just hope I don’t spiral into addiction……
| 10 |
| Vote |
subscribe to this blog
