If found, please don't use it and return to me immediately!!!
I stumbled upon an old acquaintance’s Friendster profile and was surprised to see her flowing straight black hair, flawless skin, Apple laptop and who knows what else. Her travel pictures in
But it also spell P-R-O-S-T-I.
Prostitution is one of the oldest professions in the world and one of the most profitable perhaps. Have I had fewer morals than what I have now, it would have been the perfect job for me. Imagine never-ending days of pleasure, overflowing wine, sleeping in five star hotels with a butler (oh!), shopping in Zara, Guess and Nine West in exchange of spreading my legs wide anticipating the entrée of a Viagra-enhanced cock. A little use of imagination (perhaps I could think that it’s David Beckham who’s gonna fuck me) and it’s going to be perfect.
LAID. PAID. MADE.
Oh, I can go with that motto forever.
I don’t have anything against prostitutes. Though, I would be a hypocrite in saying that it’s a dignified way to live, as well. There are times when I would envy them, especially when it comes to the shopping part (just go to Glorietta and you’ll know what I mean). Imho, the body is still sacred. Okay, okay, okay – I know this may sound surprising coming from someone who’s gotten laid a hundred times (I’m exaggerating, of course). But self-respect is something that’s hard to regain nowadays. And I guess, it’s easier to stomach the fact that I got laid because I wanted to and I was damn horny rather than saying that I got laid because I wanted to buy a new cellphone.
I know a few prostitutes or professional escorts, as what they’d rather call themselves. I once did a thesis on the subject and together with my male buddy went to Mystique in
It was an experience to be blamed for my bisexual tendencies. Women who were referred to as models complete with the model number, walked the walk with utmost confidence and struck poses in all their naked glories (or lack thereof). Some were too young, some looked like
I went to the restroom and was surprised that it serves as a dressing room for the models, too.
If I were a man, I would be the luckiest man alive then.
I was surrounded by almost naked women fighting over curling irons and blush-ons. It looked like a market place. They were cussing like crazy and no one bothered to make way for me so I can get to the cubicle.
I went back to our table and called it a night.
A few days after, the same friend asked me if I want to “apply” for Pegasus. Together with Liam, a 17 year-old FEU student cum part-time model we went to the girly bar.
I asked Liam why. She doesn’t look like she lived in a squatter’s area and couldn’t eat three times a day judging by the fact that she can still manage to buy colored contacts and a Folded and Hung denims.
“Easy money eh.”
She asked me back. I said I just wanted to try it out.
A few moments later, I found myself answering a bio-date type of questionnaire. Then we were interviewed - I told the HR personnel that I used to work as a salesclerk and that I am going back to college thus the need for money.
“Ahh, so after you finish do you plan in leaving this kind of job?”
Of course, I said. Either that or I find myself a rich benefactor. She gave out a laugh.
And then we had our final interview. I don’t know who he was but he is a guy in his 40s or 50s, he had his own office and he looked intimidating and scary. When it was my turn, I was asked to wear a skimpy outfit, almost sheer. Which I did, because he scared me. I was thinking, he would kiss me any moment but thank heavens he didn’t.
Then we were asked if we wanted to start that night. I said no for both me and Liam because we have classes the next day.
I then told Liam who I really am and offered to help her find a job. It’s not much compared to the 50k/month which Pegasus offered but it’s a noble way to live. She said she’d give it a try.
I was supposed to come with her for an interview at a friend’s call center but she never came.
Then my friend told me she’s now one of the Friday Night girls in Pegasus.
I felt bad.
After all I had a bad case of a girl crush on her.
I think it’s not the lack of choice that drives women to prostitution but them thinking that it is the best choice. They would often reason out – I’m doing this because I need to pay for my tuition, for my family, for the poor and the homeless citizens of the
And believe me when I tell you that most prostitutes who say that they are students are in real life bums who gave up on their studies years ago.
I know because I found out Liam was never enrolled in FEU.
Uncle Jim
My uncle used to own a bar in Ortigas and everytime I was broke (which was pretty much everyday) I would call in and work as a cashier/waitress/receptionist/dishwasher. And that pretty much explains why I got used to guys around me. Every guy who walks in there would flirt with any girl. I knew several married guys who flirted with me. I was tempted to flirt back, good thing my Uncle kept an eye on me.
But there was this one guy whom my uncle didn’t mind talking to me.
That night, my boyfriend drove me to my uncle’s bar and as soon as I walked in, I saw this guy on his early 40s winked at me. I was like wtf???
He is okay, he’s got a good voice and all. A little on the smaller side but charming and has a good smile.
I went to the bar to get some drinks when he approached me and introduced himself. He offered a handshake which I cannot refuse. He squeezed my hands and gave me a head-to-boobs look.
Okayyyy.
It was such a give away. I excused myself and went back to the cashier station when my Uncle approached me and asked me to go to table 14.
When I got there, I saw the 40-year old guy alone. He asked me to sit down and started asking me personal questions.
Was my Uncle pimping me?
The guy then held my hand which I quickly pulled away. Enraged, I was about to leave when…
“Aria, have you met your Uncle Jim? He just got back from the States so you should ask your pasalubong.”
I was surprised. But not as much as Uncle Jim.
“This is Aria? Wow.”
Turned out he is my second-degree Uncle, the one infamous for having 7 wives. He left for
With my first boyfriend came the first porn that I watched. I forgot what it was about since I was busy with more important things. : ) But I remember holding his dick all the time we were watching (because he said that porn has no effect on him). And after the first, I became addicted to it that I often go to internet cafes and rent a private room just so I can watch porn. At that time, I already knew how to pleasure myself. And after watching it, I would hurry back home and imagine that I was the girl in the porn film.
Killing Me Softly is one of my favorite films. I love Heather Graham (her pink nips) and Joseph Fiennes' butt is oh so yummy. I am also into bondage and their first sex scene is still etched in my mind. The bottled up sexual tension which suddenly exploded was a real treat. I watched it at home when I was in first year college. And knowing that my folks were just in another room made me nervous and thrilled at the same time.
The word was derived from the Greek pornographia, porne meaning prostitute and grapho meaning to write. It literally means a place to record prostitutes. It has different genres; my favorites include Orgy and Race-Oriented Porn. I’m not really into fetishes and voyeur, but depending on my mood, I may crave for it from time to time. Some of my porn must haves are:
- girls with big boobs and guys with long thick cocks, both must be hot of course. I like Latin and European stars... no to Asian. I dont know why.
- not too much saliva/finger fucking and definitely no fisting and squirting. I'm not much of a body fluid person
- lots of pumping in different positions
Let me share with you an e-mail I got.
…And that's one word for all I've understood about you and your "hang-ups" with us men. Don't get me wrong... I also felt like a piston whenever I had sex in the past. Happily married now, though, although there was this one time just this month when I made love with a female sex worker, courtesy of a friend. I paid for sex, yes, but I made love with her. Consequently she had a hard time letting go of me.
I agree with you. Sex is an ancient art, sex should be more than copulation between two humans. Following your definition of a fuckbuddy, humans practicing sex just like how you describe it in your definition makes us no different from dogs in heat.
Ahhh... I really would like that experience... drinking and enjoying wine, not just for the heck of it... sucking on a cigarette while facing the sea, not just for the heck of it... sipping freshly brewed coffee, enjoying every drop of caffeine, not just for the heck of it...
And in this society, it is really hard to find someone who appreciates sex just like how the ancients did.
I definitely agree with your views. And if I had to share that intimacy with you, don't worry... I'll make love with you, not just fuck you. I'll give you every courtesy deemed in that very sacred ritual.
This is not a promise, but of course. This is what I believe in. I should change my signature, then, but I digress...
What a poetic way to start an indecent proposal. But all the eloquence in the world can never change my views about having sex/relationship with a married man. I’m not speaking only from second-hand experience but from my own as well. Luckily (for men), not all women share the same thinking. Some may engage in that kind of relationship for money, companionship (?), to satiate their lust, for the thrill and excitement or simply just for the heck of it. I can probably recommend that you do it for once in your life but staying in that kind of bond will eventually turn out to be more of a strain than satisfaction.
Being born in a family of womanizers, I have seen how my Grandpa, Dad, Uncles, Kuya, cousins and their friends spin tall tales like a whiz kid. Sometimes, I even wonder if I would ever gamble on marriage. Like what I told my ex-bf before, “I trust you, but I don’t trust men.” I hate the likes of James Yap, Hugh Grant, and Brad Pitt, who, even though married with wonderful women, still find the guts to cheat. I wish all married men who cheated on their wives burn like
Why, why, why I am anti-married men!
1. Married men are always in a rush.
You have just finished your orgasm and he hurries up to get dressed. He even complains how it takes you too long to strap your bra on when you can’t even find the straps that he forcefully removed. And in some cases, he won’t even bother to drive you home. But instead, he gives you a hundred or so bill and tells you to grab a taxi. The nerve!
2. You can't trust married men.
It can't be more obvious - they cheat on their wives. How can you trust them when they say they're cancelling your date for a meeting?
3. You can't have peace of mind.
Even though he has skills like Houdini, you always have this nagging thought of being caught by his wife or that one day, some woman dressed in a maternity suit with two toddlers will come charging at your office door. Scary isn’t it?
4. Once caught, a man will always choose his wife over his mistress.
I remember seeing this couple in the parking lot of Sta. Lucia mall. They were so sweet, holding hands and all that stuff when out of nowhere came another woman who began slapping the girl from all directions. In the end, the guy joined his wife in beating the hell out of his mistress. Poor girl. But then again, she asked for it.
I don't want to generalize but usually that's the scenario. I've been through it and I know a lot of girls who've had affairs with married men and they were more tormented than happy. And married men don’t equal one hell of a rollercoaster ride in bed. Some are just as lousy as the rest.
And unless, you want to get caught in a game of deceit and pretensions, then go ahead and indulge yourself. And for married guys out there who are weaving magical words to try and persuade me to take a bite of their cock, sorry, but if you can’t give what’s due to your wife, then you certainly can’t give what’s anticipated by me.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want my male colleagues not to drool over my body. Call it vanity or simply self-indulgence. I always make it a point that I look my best, especially during my product training.
Our trainer was a tall, bald, chinito guy. Though he was soft spoken, I smell something mischievous in him. I remember wearing a skirt for the first and last time (as of press time) and just when I was about to walk out the door, I see his reflection on the glass, eyeing my long legs. Did he drool? I never found out. But I did know something.
He asked for my number on my way to the restroom and from then on, he started sending me quotes and little things to start a conversation everyday. I didn’t think it was anything special. I mean, he was my trainer and perhaps he just wanted to get my number since I’m always late for training. Or for networking purposes, perhaps. My then boyfriend was jealous like hell and it was not until we broke up that I had the chance to entertain whatever it is that he wanted.
During our Christmas party, I wore a white skirt and a dressy top and loaded my face with makeup. He offered to drive me home but my boyfriend cum body guard replied to his message and pretended to be me, “Sorry but I’m with my boyfriend.”
“Sori to bother you. Btw, you look stunning.”
Can I blame myself for being self-obsessed at times?
The messages went from a simple to hello to something deeper. We started talking about our past relationships, crushes, etc. At one point, he even asked if I was a virgin. I replied with a simple I-don’t-discuss-my-sex-life-with-other-people excuse.
And then one time, we were texting each other when out of the blue I got a message from him…
Imagine me stroking your breasts, circling my tongue in one nip while sucking your tongue, my finger going in and out of your wet pussy. Feel my shaft as it grows rock- hard, rub it in your wetness. Feel my weight as I thrust my big cock slowly into your pussy, feel it stretching your inside, feel me pushing deeper inside you, hear me moan as I cum and unload my juice on you…
I got a text… “Sorry Aria… Wrong send. I’m really sorry : (.” And my phone began ringing again. This time I answered. “I’m really sorry. It wasn’t meant for you. Really.”
“It’s okay. No harm done.”
And then I texted him, It’s okay I was just surprised. No big deal.
It was for my ex-gf. You know…
Ang iksi naman ng foreplay mo. Was that it?
Of course not, I sent several messages before that. Btw, she came na. Do you enjoy these things, too? I know live you do.
A naughty thought crossed my mind... Why don't you find out?
The next thing I knew, we ended up having phone sex.
To be continued…
[uhb-ste-triks] n. (used with a singular verb) the branch of medical science concerned with childbirth and caring for and treating women in or in connection with childbirth. Abbreviation: OB, ob (pāp) Pronunciation Key