My First Sex for Money: A True Story of How I Became a Prostitute
Sexologist, psychiatrist, and psychotherapist with the highest qualifications. I have been working as a sexologist for over 10 years. I help couples resolve issues related to their sex lives.
Contents of the article:
When people hear about prostitution, they usually imagine women walking down the sidewalk in short skirts and fishnet stockings. There is a stereotype that low social responsibility is a combination of addiction, childhood trauma, and poverty. Michelle Coulson is an attractive and well-groomed 25-year-old brunette who is ready to dispel this myth with her personal example.
How I ended up in a brothel
I grew up in a middle-class family and wanted for nothing. My parents gave me a good education and supported me in every way. However, when I was 13, they divorced. My mother ran off with a new boyfriend, and my father became completely obsessed. In fact, he never showed up at home. Around this time, I became actively interested in sex. Three years later, I left home. To keep a roof over my head, I was constantly seeing different people. Basically, I slept with them all night.
That”s when I first thought about why not start charging for it. Food and lodging don”t require much effort, and even a little money isn”t a problem. I found ads for several upscale sex shops in the newspaper and called them, but they turned me down when I told them my age. But, unfortunately, not before! So I quickly put the idea of easy money out of my head and only remembered it when I finished a hamburger I bought with the last of my money on my 18th birthday.
I was a student and fully supported myself. It wasn”t easy. After graduating, I had very little free time, so a decent job with a good salary wasn”t exactly my cup of tea. No one wanted to take on this burden. One day, I was leafing through the newspaper and came across the adult pages. The secretary was very helpful and friendly. She told me not to worry and took me to an interview. This decision was not easy for me. Until recently, I had doubts about whether I was doing the right thing, but I knew I had nothing and nowhere to go to earn a salary.
The intimate services salon was clean and modern. I expected to find myself in a brothel, which was a pleasant surprise for me. Its owner, an elderly Italian gentleman, was already waiting for me at the bar. He politely introduced himself and offered me a cappuccino. The man told me what was required of me and how much he would pay for it. “Everything looks incredibly good. Maybe they’ll even take my passport?” — I joked, despite my inner nervousness. The owner smiled and said I could start tomorrow. With the few dollars I had left, I bought a new set of underwear and a short, cheap dress. The bridge behind me was cut off.
My first time
In the morning I came to my first “shift”. I was taken to the common room where the girls were preening before greeting guests. It”s too early to talk about this, so I took a few minutes to think about the situation. Soon Rose, a tall brunette, appeared. We soon found a common language. When she was helping me with my makeup, I asked her for the first time: “What is your name?” She laughed out loud and replied, “I don’t remember! I don’t remember that either!”
The bell rang. Rose explained to me that this meant that the client had already entered the lobby and was waiting for the girls to come out to him. She pushed me slightly: “Come on, don’t be afraid!” I was confused. I felt like a bull in the market, which is what buyers are looking for before making a deal. But my fears dissipated when I saw my client. He was a young, handsome European in a stylish, expensive jacket. He looked at us carefully and asked me to introduce myself. I chose the pseudonym Bonnie in honor of our famous heroine. He waved his hand at me and we entered the room.
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Rose managed to guide us. First of all, this is safety. I immediately examined my client and his genitals, were there any signs of lumps, pimples or infection? Fortunately, everything turned out to be settled. She then asked him to take a shower. I lay on the bed, listened to the sound of the water and tried to understand that I had not remained a virgin for long. And the money only adds up in pieces. I imagined that we met at a bar and decided to spend the evening together.
He introduced himself as Kyle. Undressing under his gaze, I saw that he was already in platoon, and this was a real erotic marathon, not sex for the box. Thanks to the movie “Pretty Woman”, a stereotype was formed that prostitutes do not kiss their clients. This is not true. Rose said I have the right to do what I want and not to do what I don”t want. So when Kyle reached for my lips, I didn”t push him away. The fact that this man with a magnificent body paid me for something that for him, any girl would have freed me even more. I felt my strength.
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The man squeezed my butt and pulled it towards him, which I took as a signal to act. I inserted the condom into my lips and effectively pulled it onto my penis. Kyle exhaled sharply and brought his head closer. I took his manhood, gently squeezed his lips and began to move, moving from top to bottom, gradually increasing the pace. While my tongue fluttered around the head, I gently massaged the balls, not forgetting to help myself with my hands. I inhaled and guided my dick down my throat. Kyle was already close to climax, so his breathing became more rapid. But I couldn”t let him cum in my mouth. I wanted everyone to remember this sex as the best of his life.
So I sat on top of the man and jokingly rubbed my clitoris with his pubic bone. Kyle”s cock slid gently into my pussy. I immediately got down to business. After a few minutes, Kyle moaned and exploded. He pulled me towards him, we lay down and smiled at each other. “You’re the best,” the man said, “and I don’t want it to end.” And when I had a little more time, I knew I could give him a great massage.
He rolled over onto his stomach and we got to know each other better as I leaned toward his back. Kyle said that he owns an event planning agency. “You also make people feel good without having sex, just like me,” I laughed. At first, I naively believed in the stories that men told me, but then I realized that each of them had a more successful alter ego.
We took a shower, he thanked me and left. I had a fair amount of work waiting for me in the break room for an hour. I sat down on the ottoman and thought, “I”m not going to stay here for long. You”re here to stay!” Over the course of seven years, I”ve had a lot of leisure jobs, from erotic masseuse to webcam model. But I don”t like being called a prostitute or an escort. I”m an educated, middle-class woman who found her calling in the sex industry. I”ve never had a problem with drugs. No one has beaten me or forced me. I want to take my destiny into my own hands.
I have never stood the course or done anything against my moral principles. The clients are different, but most of them are ordinary normal people who do not want to waste time on courtship and need sexual release. Some people need to be listened to, others are interested in communicating with another circle of women. I prefer to use the term “sex worker” because it is a term that is used to describe a person who is a “sex worker”. This is because I have to be a therapist, girlfriend or one night stand, and spread my legs at the client”s request.
