“I appreciated that they saw me as human, rather than the majority of my male clients who saw me as a blowjob machine.”
First of all, it is not easy to get up on that stage.
Instead, it was rows of neon bikini-clad Eastern Europeans (apparently it’s a thing) with fake tits. I felt a bit like I was in The Gold Coast or LA rather than the dark alleyways of Amsterdam.
“I walk into the bar and there are 80-plus middle-aged women going mental.”
“I was propositioned by a mother-and-daughter team.”
Eventually, after some coaxing, he convinced me. And then he convinced me to take off my bra. I cannot wear it until he tells me I can. He told me to take off my panties. I cannot wear any until he tells me I can.
“If I’m being brutally honest, the hottest women I’ve ever f*cked have been sex workers. I would never be able to f*ck women who are ridiculously hot unless they were prostitutes.”
When not portraying them as misguided prudes who need an open ear, the media portrays johns as freaks who engage in risky or fetishistic sex to which they can’t subject their wholesome wives. There has to be a legitimate reason to purchase sex, right?
Isn’t it sort of funny how the things we tell ourselves we’d never do because of our morals we end up loving in the end?