The good, the bad and the god damn cheesy cocks
I am an escort!
I know, quick, pelt me with stones old testament style for my harlot ways. Isn’t it funny – Jesus’ ‘’lady friend’’ Mary Maggie was herself a retired lady of the night, and she got to wash the feet of Jesus! Think about that! He without sin as they say!It’s funny the bible basher bigots seem to be ones throwing the most stones and I doubt they have all been good boys and girls. Infact, I know they haven’t.
The good: I choose to be an escort, how I became one – a simple matter of falling into it. Falling I said, not being pushed.
I met a guy on a dating site who then he told me he was married. Obviously I told him that I didn’t want to meet him so he offered me 300e for one hour of my time. Initially I was the like “The nerve!”. Then I looked at my bank balance, realised pay day was a week away and my thinking swayed slightly. I mean- I was a girl who had a lot of sex. In fact I adore the act of sex, the leave your emotions at the door kinda sex, the lets have some fun kinda sex.
You could say I was an open minded type of gal, or for want of a cliche I was a nympho.
I am no model though. I had low confidence as as it were. However just after the first “meeting” with this guy started to change. Contrary to some imaginations I didn’t cry and feel dirty. I did get in the shower but far from feeling ashamed I felt dumb founded. Almost pinching myself I found that it was really true- not a dream. I’d just had a great shag with a super-hot guy who went down on me for 40minutes of the hour and had the biggest penis I think I ever saw (and he is still a client ). Result!
I have a love hate relationship with my job, what may shock some is that the actual booking is the easy bit.
One day, the phone rang, the booking was made, bell rings, I opened the door. And dropped my jaw! I felt like dropping to my stocking clad knees, and confessing all my sin then and there. Jesus himself had just appeared at my door! I checked for stigmata, nope, it’s just my 2pm.
You know that beard Jesus supposedly had, the long floaty hair. That was the man. I have the spit of him right here and now. Quite uncanny. Jesus wants an hour, presents a bottle of lovely white wine (wonder was it ever water?) and off he goes into the shower, to wash his sins away (and behind his ears I hope) and cleanse his soul before he commits many sins with the whore of Babylon (well, Galway to be fair). He entered my room, a mere towel covering his midriff his long hair flowing down to his slender shoulders, his face covered in a thick short beard… Yes, yes our saviour has arrived!
We started to kiss. His beard rubbed against my lipsticked mouth and I felt his lashes on my face. He moves down to bless me with his tongue, which was as glorious as a choir of angels, I turn him on his back, to bring him to heaven and back. I proceeded with said pleasure, looking at my Our Lord Lookalike, he is enjoying himself and at the moment of release Jesus out stretches his arms as if on the cross and releases a loud moan, tears start to form in my eyes, my lip aches from biting. Then it happens.I crack my arse laughing and bless myself. I didn’t stop laughing for at least an hour. That was one perplexed 2pm. I never did tell him why I was laughing- but he left a tip!