I, 99.99 percent of the time that I am horny, cannot justify paying for sex, but I'm always tempted.
I am a loner. Its not that I'm unlikable, in person. Most people seem to like me a lot more in person than my written words on a screen, from the experience I have. But I guess over the years, I lost my circle, because I'm injured. I always have been... But back in the days of compulsory education, and neighborhood living, friends just happened, and I toughed it out... self medicating Coca Cola, sugar, then coffee with spoonfuls of sugar, and pseudoephedrine and ibuprofen in massive quantities. But around college age my body began to reject things more radically. I became more ill. I locked myself in rooms. No longer could friends rouse me the same, because I could get away, and got used to it. The only thing I wanted was weed, to ease myself. Weed and things I could control, like videogames.
Anyways. I've been in a similar place since. I have only recently gained awareness of what was making me sick the whole time, and a lot of times, its other people, and what they put on themselves... All of the fragrances. Not that I didn't used to make myself sick with the same thing.
So I protect myself. In public I'm a nice enough guy. I speak well enough. People take time to talk to me, as I try to take time for them. Cops let me off with warnings. I've had five in the last year alone, for speeding, and not signalling once. But I never want to spend much time with them- people. I fear the pain. I don't want to forfeit control. My castle. If I have a girl... I usually only want her once or twice. I don't want her "in my life". Even when I had them in my life I don't really think I let them in.
But in passing, I'm a nice guy. I'm social. I smile. I get attention. I don't ask for a lot.
Anyways... Tonight I broke down and wanted companionship. Sex, but companionship.
I found Jaymie (or Jamie), online. I paid her $100. She was the sweetest girl I have met in awhile. Injured, damaged, but sweet, and genuinely nice. She is a natural redhead. I didn't know this before I met her. She was blond in her pictures. Still is, but I could tell from her complexion... Her freckles. She's the first girl I have actually really been interested in touching, on her genitals, in awhile. I don't care that I paid her money. And usually, I regret it. Here, with her, I made a friend.
She tried to pop a pimple that was on my chest. She just went to it, after we were done, and we had been talking. I don't get pimples often at all... But uhh... There was a tiny red blemish. She wasn't successful, and said it was probably an in-grown hair.
...No girl has ever done that.
I actually like her. Friendly like. Companion like. Not that I am falling for her, but I want her to be happy, and to have love. I wanted to show her love. Most prostitutes don't kiss. Well, some do... But I wouldn't want to kiss most. Most people. She was seemingly reserved, but during sex, she came, and I told her she was beautiful. I told her before. There was light kissing. It was nice. She thought that I came... But I take a second to enjoy myself.
I turned her over. Doggy style. I noticed blood. I thought it was something else. But I wasn't going to let something else ruin the moment. So I went primal. And came, eventually, pounding her from behind. I fell into a rhythm. Its been awhile... Since the last time I had consensual non paid sex, a year and a half ago.
It turned out it was blood. She started her period. The last time that happened was on Labor Day, about 7 years ago, after my ex and I broke up and Tara came to see me, the day after. She bled during.
Jamie and I continued to talk. She didn't rush me out. She wants to hang out, as friends. She likes psychedelics. And weed. She brought up acid.
Her two children died last year... Or 2012. 10 and 5. Car crash. She says church helps... and that's about all that helps. She worked in medical coding, but lost her job because she was too depressed to work. Strong girl really. Sweet. Troubled... but so am I, so I am not one to judge her.
When I left, I noticed the time on an alarm clock at next to the door was 6:11. I positioned it, facing it toward her as I was editing her house, as she was walking me out, where it was on top of a speaker, and said "that's my birthday", with a smile. And upon exiting I see the name "Mike" on the wall, as I turn around, stepping out, still talking to her, on the wall opposite the door. A bald eagle looking stuffed bird was next to it, and perhaps other stuffed birds. I don't think it was real, but I'm not positive (or negative).
She has a tattoo of an Angel on her thigh, with the names of her two children that died. Many other tattoos. One that means soul in Chinese lettering at the bottom of her left rib cage. The birthday and death-date of her daughter on her left shoulder blade, and on her right a bible verse about worrying only about what she can control... And giving the rest to God, I think. Or the things she can change... And things she can't. I need to ask her. Then a heart and a flower. I know a flower was on her front. Maybe the heart was on her spine.
Freckles.
Red. Blood.
As I drove to her house, I got an email from an Andrew Hart... at my car dealership, reminding me of my 21 month service. The last sex that was good was with Whitney Hart, about a year and half ago.
I might have made a friend.
I am a loner. Its not that I'm unlikable, in person. Most people seem to like me a lot more in person than my written words on a screen, from the experience I have. But I guess over the years, I lost my circle, because I'm injured. I always have been... But back in the days of compulsory education, and neighborhood living, friends just happened, and I toughed it out... self medicating Coca Cola, sugar, then coffee with spoonfuls of sugar, and pseudoephedrine and ibuprofen in massive quantities. But around college age my body began to reject things more radically. I became more ill. I locked myself in rooms. No longer could friends rouse me the same, because I could get away, and got used to it. The only thing I wanted was weed, to ease myself. Weed and things I could control, like videogames.
Anyways. I've been in a similar place since. I have only recently gained awareness of what was making me sick the whole time, and a lot of times, its other people, and what they put on themselves... All of the fragrances. Not that I didn't used to make myself sick with the same thing.
So I protect myself. In public I'm a nice enough guy. I speak well enough. People take time to talk to me, as I try to take time for them. Cops let me off with warnings. I've had five in the last year alone, for speeding, and not signalling once. But I never want to spend much time with them- people. I fear the pain. I don't want to forfeit control. My castle. If I have a girl... I usually only want her once or twice. I don't want her "in my life". Even when I had them in my life I don't really think I let them in.
But in passing, I'm a nice guy. I'm social. I smile. I get attention. I don't ask for a lot.
Anyways... Tonight I broke down and wanted companionship. Sex, but companionship.
I found Jaymie (or Jamie), online. I paid her $100. She was the sweetest girl I have met in awhile. Injured, damaged, but sweet, and genuinely nice. She is a natural redhead. I didn't know this before I met her. She was blond in her pictures. Still is, but I could tell from her complexion... Her freckles. She's the first girl I have actually really been interested in touching, on her genitals, in awhile. I don't care that I paid her money. And usually, I regret it. Here, with her, I made a friend.
She tried to pop a pimple that was on my chest. She just went to it, after we were done, and we had been talking. I don't get pimples often at all... But uhh... There was a tiny red blemish. She wasn't successful, and said it was probably an in-grown hair.
...No girl has ever done that.
I actually like her. Friendly like. Companion like. Not that I am falling for her, but I want her to be happy, and to have love. I wanted to show her love. Most prostitutes don't kiss. Well, some do... But I wouldn't want to kiss most. Most people. She was seemingly reserved, but during sex, she came, and I told her she was beautiful. I told her before. There was light kissing. It was nice. She thought that I came... But I take a second to enjoy myself.
I turned her over. Doggy style. I noticed blood. I thought it was something else. But I wasn't going to let something else ruin the moment. So I went primal. And came, eventually, pounding her from behind. I fell into a rhythm. Its been awhile... Since the last time I had consensual non paid sex, a year and a half ago.
It turned out it was blood. She started her period. The last time that happened was on Labor Day, about 7 years ago, after my ex and I broke up and Tara came to see me, the day after. She bled during.
Jamie and I continued to talk. She didn't rush me out. She wants to hang out, as friends. She likes psychedelics. And weed. She brought up acid.
Her two children died last year... Or 2012. 10 and 5. Car crash. She says church helps... and that's about all that helps. She worked in medical coding, but lost her job because she was too depressed to work. Strong girl really. Sweet. Troubled... but so am I, so I am not one to judge her.
When I left, I noticed the time on an alarm clock at next to the door was 6:11. I positioned it, facing it toward her as I was editing her house, as she was walking me out, where it was on top of a speaker, and said "that's my birthday", with a smile. And upon exiting I see the name "Mike" on the wall, as I turn around, stepping out, still talking to her, on the wall opposite the door. A bald eagle looking stuffed bird was next to it, and perhaps other stuffed birds. I don't think it was real, but I'm not positive (or negative).
She has a tattoo of an Angel on her thigh, with the names of her two children that died. Many other tattoos. One that means soul in Chinese lettering at the bottom of her left rib cage. The birthday and death-date of her daughter on her left shoulder blade, and on her right a bible verse about worrying only about what she can control... And giving the rest to God, I think. Or the things she can change... And things she can't. I need to ask her. Then a heart and a flower. I know a flower was on her front. Maybe the heart was on her spine.
Freckles.
Red. Blood.
As I drove to her house, I got an email from an Andrew Hart... at my car dealership, reminding me of my 21 month service. The last sex that was good was with Whitney Hart, about a year and half ago.
I might have made a friend.