Another GFE*, Another Dollar

Blogging seems to be one of those things that, if I don't do daily, then I don't do at all. Sadly, y'all have witnessed that fact firsthand.

I even have another post in my Drafts folder waiting to be finished, but as an Aries, I am notoriously bad at finishing projects that I've started. I either do it all at once or not at all.

Anyway, I have another fun story to tell y'all about my recent adventures in the land of Pussy for Pay. A new client, I'll call him Jason, posted an ad looking for an all night companion. The amount of money he offered wasn't great for that amount of time, but my bank account numbers were dangerously approaching zero, so I answered it anyway. Jason and I bargained back and forth over several emails and I finally told him no. I wasn't going to sleep over with him for that amount of money.

The next day, however, I balanced my checkbook and was horrified. I was going out of town and needed at least enough money to buy me a tank of gas, not to mention food and other trip-taking expenses. I pondered for several minutes, swallowed my pride and contacted Jason. He was ecstatic, of course, having had sent me several ridiculous emails telling me how hot I was and asking if I'd consider dating him (for free) if we hit it off. I managed to skirt around that question politely, though the temptation to ream him out for suggesting something so preposterous was very very high.

When I finally got to the hotel, it was already late in the evening. I had decided to take the next day off of work because I knew we wouldn't be getting much sleep. I'm really horny, Jason had told me over email. I waited outside the hotel entrance, the air beginning to cool with the onset of Fall, and wondered if other people knew why I was there. In fact, every time I see a client at his hotel, I always wonder if everyone who passes me on my way there Knows. It's not a scary paranoid feeling, per se, but kind of like one I sometimes get when I wonder if the person sitting across from me on the subway knows what I'm thinking at that very moment.

Jason greeted me with a hug and paid for our room at the Econo Lodge, the only thing available to us that late at night. When we stepped into the Jacuzzi Suite, it was like stepping into a movie set from the '70s. Or maybe even a hotel room from the actual 70s. I can't say for sure, however, since I wasn't born until the decade after. But I have to describe this room to you. The jacuzzi in the main room was heart shaped. And cherry red. There was recessed lighting all over the lover's suite. The bed in the adjoining room was circle-shaped. With a maroon velvet canopy and columns upholstered in maroon, olive and beige. Mirrors lined the top of the canopy and the back wall. We both searched the bed for a coin machine to make it vibrate. The most hilarious part of that relic, however, was the AM-FM radio/cassette player installed IN THE BED. Being a child of the 80s and thus also being able to appreciate the anachronism, Jason and I laughed for a long time about being in the presence of such a throwback.

I filled up the heart-shaped tub and we both climbed in. Jason marveled over my body and told me how beautiful I was. We discovered that we had gone to the same university as undergraduates and talked about that for a long time. Jason was an agreeable guy, that was for sure, but contrary to his prediction that I would want to date him for free after I met him, I was there for the money, not the company. We left the tub and dried ourselves off in the bedroom. Jason began to kiss me and stuck his slimy pointed tongue deep into my mouth. Now, most things sex-related don't gross me out, but bad kissers are at the top of that short list. I've refused to sleep with really hot people because their kissing style squicked me out. Thankfully, I managed to (mostly) steer the kissing away from a face-sucking fest and got Jason onto the bed. He went down on me for several minutes and I did a great job of faking both pleasure and an orgasm. Jason, I could tell, was already enamored with me. He called me Baby constantly and stopped every few minutes to tell me how much he liked me, how hot I was, how good I was in bed, etc. I'd like to say that I was flattered, but mostly it annoyed me. Maybe that sounds callous or haughty, but the compliments feel so fake. After all, these men don't know a damn thing about the real me. And I constantly wonder how it is that these men I see are so easily convinced that I'm there because of them and not the money.

Anyway, after that, we had some mediocre sex and cuddled for an hour or so. By that time, it was creeping into the wee hours of the morning and Jason had set his alarm for 5:30 a.m. Still, he decided that he wanted another go and went down on me again. After another faked orgasm, he began to fuck me. But this time, he went a lot longer than the first time we had fucked. Sometimes, I really hate seeing younger guys because they are so much more able to get hard more frequently and for longer.

After about 15 minutes of being fucked, my legs started to hurt and Jason could tell something was amiss. What's wrong, my love? he asked, and I almost gagged from him calling me that. Trying desperately to think of a lie, I decided to pump his ego and I claimed that my pussy was sore. Jason was not the most well-endowed man in the world, but I thought he might feel flattered to think that my poor pussy was tired from all that pumping. The plan work and Jason apologized profusely for "hurting" me. I told him not to worry about it and grinned to myself. I turned over and Jason spooned me from behind. The faux-intimacy felt less gross than I would have imagined, partly because the air conditioner was on and I was cold.

I slept soundly for the few hours until Jason had to get up for work. He kissed me goodbye and left quietly. When the door shut, I grinned again, stretched out in the mirrored circle bed and counted my thick wad of cash. I may have gotten paid less than what I am worth, but I can't say that I regretted feeling that wad of money slide between my fingertips.


*GFE stands for Girlfriend Experience and usually refers to a sex work act that includes DFK, or Deep French Kissing as well as cuddling and other niceties that allow clients to think that you Actually Like Them.