The Whore Chronicles: My First

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. It is not a confession of guilt nor can it be used as evidence of guilt against the author.

He didn’t know he was my first. It’s been over a month since that day. I like to pretend that I don’t remember his name, but I’ll probably always remember him. He was my first client.

I came to this work as most do, desperate for a change. Searching for the ease in my finances that the world had promised me; “go to college, get good grades, graduate, you’ll land a job.” I heard horror stories about the job market, whispered among my peers between our exams on Post Colonial Experience and lectures on Hemingway. I took my diploma with a BA in English with trepidation for the uncertain future, but I didn’t know how hard it would be.

I’d worked all through college to keep my loans down, but now I was working two jobs at over 50 hours a week, living in a room the size of a walk-in closet, and still I sometimes worried about food, rent, everything. I was tired. Too drained for anything enjoyable.

In college I had dreams of being a writer! I imagined life after college as a contemporary version of the musical Rent; art projects around ever corner, discussions about politics every night around my table with friends and wine, writing my novel at night in dark cafes, and a sense of freedom that living in a big city seems to breed in its dwellers. But that is all I had, dreams and no time.

The idea of perusing this work started years before when I watched every HBO special and movie remotely close to the subject. I was enamored with the women I saw on the screen. There is a mystery to the world of escorting, a glamor that its secrets hold. Always a curious person, this mystery mixed with my disillusionment and propelled me to posting an ad.

As any good college grad would, I did my research before I posted the ad. I looked at other girls websites, saw their pictures, and read about the closing of Redbook (which had happened a month before I had decided on this work). I even bought and read two books on the subject. I built my first website (as amateur as could be, but it was free, and mine!) and I bought a form fit black dress insead of dinner one night. Now was the moment of truth, my website was live, my ad was ready to post on Backpage.

I clicked post. And I waited. It wasn’t long before I had an influx of emails. They were the typical misspelled, crude, and rude emails I’ve come to just toss in my trash. But I was new and naïve and so I tried to engage with those men. As you can expect it lead nowhere because I was dead set that my hourly rate would be 300. This is a decision I thank the books I read for as it probably saved me from the worst experiences as a first timer. But I was also limited, as I could only do outcalls (which means going to a clients house) at the time.

A week went by and I was panicking. Maybe I didn’t have what it takes, maybe I wasn’t pretty enough, maybe my price really was too high. I was a business with every last cent to my name invested in my product and I had no clients. It was possibly the most terrifying part of the whole episode. Even scarier than the moment before I knocked on the door. Even scarier than when I realized I had no quick getaway planned if this all turned out wrong.

That’s right, in all my planning I had failed to sketch out a method of retreat. People knew where I was, but I was an hour outside of the Berkeley where me and my friends lived. And I'd taken public transit to get there! I was truly on my own.

I walked through an apartment complex, trenchcoat cutched around my skimpy outfit. I felt like a cliche. I walked up to his apartment door. It was dark inside. I knocked. Nothing. Had I just been fooled into a prank call? I knocked again with more force.

He opened the door. He had dark hair, a strong face, and was shirtless. Surprisingly, he earned that shirtlessness with ever conture of his 12 abs. I walked inside past his smiling face as if I knew what I was doing. There was nothing in his livingroom but a weight lifting machine and a TV. 

"Make yourself at home," he said. This was the moment of truth. Could I really fake intimacy on comand. Could I remember to get the money, dick check him (check for std signs), put the condom on right, smile, all while being smooth. 

I put my bag down and kissed him. I held hhis face in my hands as I liked to be and kissed until I forgot I was kissing a stranger. I looked into his eyes. They were blue. 

He took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom. He had red satin sheets and had dimmed the lights perfectly. He sat on the bed. I took my trenchcoat off and let it fall to the floor behind me. His hands found their way to my hips. He felt up and down the countours of the fabric marveling at the curve of me. 

"Oh my god," he said.

"You like?" I asked. It was awkward and weak. Had I just betrayed how scared I felt?

"Pssh," was his only answer. He pulled me into him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, tense so I wouldn't fall all the way to the floor. He was grinding his crotch againt the curve his hands had just been tracing. I kissed him again. I tried to stand to get some type of balance, but he held tight. His beautiful muscles now had a hint of threat behind them. If he wanted something enough I would be powerless to stop him. 

But he just laid back and let me straddle him. I kissed his neck. My fingers teased the crook of his arm, the muscles of his abdomen. On my thigh I could feel his dick growing against me. His flimsy workout shorts did little to hide him. I ground my hips back and forth gently over the growing apendage. 

I'd forgotten to libricate myself before! As I was grinding I wasn't getting wet. I'd read a blog where another girl suggested pre-lubricating so you didn't have to in the middle of a session and so the guy felt like you were turned on by him. I'd forgotten and I wasn't getting wet. I hadn't brought lube. So I angled my hips to rub my own clit against him. Still I kissed and teased. I listened to his breathing to get a hint of where he liked to be touched. Was that hitch as I licked the nipples just a coinsidence?  I licked there again. Nothing this time.

I go back to kissing his neck. The neck has always worked for my past lovers. He flips me over. I'm under him and he is grinding himself on the curve of my hips again. He pulled up my dress. I worry that he'll notice I'm dry through my pink panties. He kept grinding away. Now he kisses on me. Sloppy and rushed he kisses under my chin, sucks on my ear, the curve of my neck. He pulls his shorts off. Now he rubs his dick against my inner thigh. 

I shimmy the dress up and over my head. He grabs at my breast through my bra. He squeezes with one hand and rubs his dick back and forth against my panties with the other. He watches how the tip of his dick disapears into the pink panties and the fold of my vulva. 

Should I make him put on a condom now? There is only a layer of cotton between me and him. 

I push him up, weak against his muscles, but my hand is insistent. He stands. I kneel to the floor and take his dick into my mouth. I can get about half of him into me. I move my mouth up and down letting the spit help me glid against him. I cup him by the balls and take his shaft with the other hand. My hand turns to the right. My head turns to the left. Up and down my mouth and hand move as mirrors. 

He grips me by the back of the head. He tries to push his dick deeper into my mouth, but my hand keeps me from chokeing too much around him. A growl comes from his mouth. The dick in my hand expands and contracts in pulses and my mouth fills with salty cum. I let it pool in my mouth as the pulses grow weaker. My hand and mouth still, waiting. He backs away.

I rush to the bathroom across the way and spit his cum into the sink. I rinse my mouth out. I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My make-up looks caked on. My hair sticks out at odd angles. There is a thin film of sweat on my forehead and under my eyes. I clean myself up as best I can before I go back out to him. Only 20min of his hour have passed and I've already gotten the main event over with.

He lays on the bed naked with an arm over his eyes. I cuddle up into his side and let my hands kned at his arm muscles. 

"Can I ask you a question?" he said. "Where do I go around here to find a girlfriend?"

That was how we spent the rest of his hour, cuddled into eachother talking. We talked about his past relationships, how enough sex was always an issue, I gave him a dating game plan, and he told me about his dream to quit his finance job and move out to the country. 

Walking away from the complex I called the two friends of mine who knew about my new career and couldn’t stop gushing about how much fun I had! People get paid for this work?! I couldn’t believe it. I walked back to BART(public transit) just giggling to myself. All the possibilities in my world had just opened wide for me. I made rent, had fun, and was home before dinner time.

In the days and weeks that have followed I often look back to that day. I realize how lucky I was to be with such a easy client. What he wanted most was to talk about his past relationship while holding someone close. It’s possible that this first experience has informed all my work, because now my favorite moment in every session is when we are calming down in each others arms, just talking about our lives in a way we can’t with anyone else in the world. In that space it feels almost like I was made for this work.

He was my first, and I will always be grateful to him.