“Let’s play together”

Young, Hot, Stunning GFE – let’s play together

I scheduled with Victoria via text for another appointment. She was able to meet in the early evening at an upscale hotel near the convention center. She called me as I arrived at the hotel and apologetically told me that she was delayed. After a considerable wait, she called me up to her room. She answered the door with tears in her eyes.

Something had happened to upset her. We sat on the bed. My pastoral instincts kicked in, and I tried to console her. She didn’t want to go into detail about what happened. It made the setting quite odd. The minister in me wanted to provide succor.

But I couldn’t avert my eyes from her phenomenal ass.

She composed herself within a few minutes. Her hair color had changed from blond to brunette, but her 20-year old spinner’s physique was unchanged. (And I had discovered during my previous encounter with her that she was tight in more ways than one.) She reminded me of the girls who attended the public high school, the ones who would flaunt their nubile bodies and sex appeal. The ones who, despite my commitment to purity, I secretly wanted to fuck.

My carnality overwhelmed my ministry of presence as I stripped off her lingerie. She said she wanted to make up for her tardiness. My clothes came off, and I lay on the bed. She positioned herself to my right, her head approaching my cock. Soon her mouth was moving up and down my shaft as I fingered her. I felt her getting wet. On came the condom. My aggressiveness surprised me as I fucked her doggy style: my hand spanked her bare bottom, then grabbed her long hair as I pounded her hard. I had her get on top and ride me. The sight of her slim body fucking me cowgirl pushed me over the edge. My hands clasped onto her hips as I exploded inside her.

Sexual Object

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Amidst the stress of Holy Week and the approaching end of the semester, I made a brief escape this afternoon. A quick call to “Joyce” arranged an appointment with “Sara.” After returning home to shower and change clothes, I drove to the city and walked down an alley by the river to Sara’s incall. It’s a cozy loft discreetly located — perfect for a late afternoon frolic. A knock on the door and she let me in.

I’ve seen Sara about a dozen times. With her long blonde hair and tight, athletic body, she makes for an entertaining playmate. She’s quite sweet, but she doesn’t reveal much of her personality. Halting attempts at conversation with her have gone nowhere. Joyce advertises her as “GFE,” and while Sara may provide a lot of services on the menu, she doesn’t really fit that (admittedly vague) description for me. Little emotional intimacy is shared. Our encounters are marked by raw physicality. There are times when I seek a genuine personal connection with an escort. Other times, frankly, I just want to fuck. Sara is the perfect companion for those times.

Today she met me in an outfit that was totally slutty, advertising her sexual availability. She offered me a glass of water. Few words were spoken before we were stripped naked, French kissing on the bed.

Sara’s instrumental, impersonal approach to sex (even her moans were obviously feigned) is erotic in its own fashion. Having little sense of her as a person, I consented to her sexual self-objectification. She had been reduced to a “fucking machine,” an assemblage of tits and ass and pussy which was designed solely for my sexual gratification.

The prostitute does not satisfy the need for a woman or even the demand for a particular sort of woman. She accommodates the client’s desires for a woman who ceases to exist when she is no longer wanted. A man seeks a prostitute in order to avoid the inconvenience of sexual relations with another subject. Indeed, he pays her to disguise the subjectivity expressed through her individual needs, interests, and desires. With a prostitute, a man can have sex when and how he wants it…. The consequences she bears for their sexual encounter need not concern him.

– Yolanda Estes, “Moral Reflections on Prostitution”

But, as Kant and others have asserted, isn’t all sex ultimately objectifying? In his Lectures on Ethics, Kant writes that sexual activity is inherently objectifying because the participants use each other as means to an end, which is sexual satisfaction. “[A]s soon as the person is possessed, and the appetite sated, they are thrown away, as one throws away a lemon after sucking the juice from it.” Sex also entails self-objectification, since in the throes of sexual passion one abandons rationality and descends to the level of animal instinct, using oneself as a mere means for sexual pleasure. Sara and I merely made explicit what is implicit in all sexual activity. I used her to obtain an orgasm. She used me to obtain $300. We fucked without pretense.

Audrey Redux

“I like you, Philip,” Audrey said lazily as we lounged on the bed. Stan Getz played on her MP3 player. We had fucked just minutes earlier.

“Fruit is so sexy,” she purred. She daintily reached for a slice of pineapple on a plate on the nightstand. I thought about how certain fruits resemble female genitalia, but I thought it best not to vocalize that impression.

I saw that Audrey was in town again, so I booked an appointment with her early this evening. When I arrived at her room at the Sheraton, she greeted me with a smile. A thin white robe was draped over her flawless body. She was clad in a white garter and stockings set, accentuated by her high heels. She seemed a bit different this time. Something was off. She seemed a bit sedated, like she was somewhat out of it. Her room was messier than during my previous visits — I spied a couple of empty wine bottles and a package of snack cakes. When I placed the donation on the dresser, she immediately opened the envelope to count the bills.

She moved toward the window in her room and commented on the view at dusk. The dome of the cathedral could be seen below us. The thought occurred to me to bend her over in front of the window, grab her by the hips, and go at it, hoping that someone down on the street below could look up to the 23rd floor and see us. I’ve never considered myself an exhibitionist, but I imagined Audrey and I being caught in flagrante delicto.

Instead we moved to the bed. Her lingerie came off, causing me to admire her pale skin. I caressed her glorious breasts and sucked on her nipples. She reached down and stroked me. As her mouth went up and down my cock, I ran my fingers through her silky black hair. Eventually my mouth made its way to her bare mons pubis. Then I went down on her. She smoothly put a condom on me with her mouth and wound up on top. Her vocalizations as she rode me triggered a thunderous orgasm.

We talked afterwards. (And she does like to talk.) Again, Audrey seemed a bit spacey this evening. She mentioned she once had a boyfriend in the New York neighborhood I once worked in. She was considering moving to the Northeast. She had recently watched Roman Holiday again. (Audrey Hepburn was the inspiration for her name.) She asked if she was my favorite escort among the ladies I have seen.

“You’re up there,” I said, which isn’t quite true. (If I had to rate her, she’d be in the second tier. Good, but not among my favorites.)

“Yay!” she replied.

She wound things up a few minutes before our hour was up and started to get dressed. It was early evening now, and she was going out to grab a bite to eat. She dressed up quite stylishly, and upon getting dressed myself, I accompanied her to the elevator. We exited into the foyer and went our separate ways into the dusk, but not before she wished me goodbye.

“Ciao!”