I think hookers are a fascinating subject. While I never have personally paid for sex, besides the alcohol and hotel room beforehand, I have talked to people who have had sex with these modern day entrepreneurs. These friends of mine tell me things like, "Hookers could careless if you're enjoying it, as long as they fill an hour," and "Most of them look and smell like they haven't showered in several days." But the one thing that stuck out in my mind more than anything else was a line from my friend who is a compulsive liar. He told me, "One time the hooker paid me." I told him he was a fucking liar and that I hated him, but it got me thinking. Could I get a hooker to pay me? Like, is it possible to rock a hooker's world?
I had to plan out all of these obstacles. Most hookers are pretty loose, so my penis alone wasn't going to do it. Also, were there any positions I could try that a hooker never has done before? And the final question, can you cross the line with a hooker? I don't mean like asking her if she minded if I murdered her or anything afterwards, just if she was against like dog play or something.
So I set out in my ‘89 Honda Accord with my dog Bozwell and cruised through Over-the-Rhine looking for hookers. If you're not familiar with the city of Cincinnati, all you need to know is that Over-the-Rhine loves race riots and 70% of the buildings are abandoned, so most of its residents live for free. My dad always told me that when he was working in this area, women approached his work truck and offered sex many times. I'm just hoping he said no, because I would not like to find out I was born with AIDS because my dad got bored at work one day.
I found a girl really fast. I just took the first offer I got, I'm not picky. She wasn't too bad looking; her boobs were a bit saggy and she smelled like stale cigarettes and 151. I've hooked up with worse after long nights or partying, so I didn't feel bad about this investment. She told me it was $40 an hour, and since I didn't do any research on the running rates of hookers in my local area, I just said okay. Also, she was not into dog play, so Bozwell would have to take one for the team and wait in the car. He was not amused, since I promised him sex.
See you at the crossroads, crossroads, crossroads / So you won't be lonelyNow my plan was in motion, and I reached for my CD case next to this hooker's leg. She slapped me in the face and said, "Not in public you fucking idiot." I gently replied I was reaching for my CD case, not her half-shaven legs. She apologized. I was starting to think she was a hooker with a heart of gold, but then she gave the finger to another hooker as we drove, so I gave up on saving her from this lifestyle.
I put in a Barry White CD and she gave me an odd look, then she said, "That's real fucking weird, kid." I thought it was a good way to set the mood. She asked me where I was going, and I said to the store real quick. I needed condoms. She told me she wouldn't get pregnant, and I pretended like that was the reason I was getting condoms, saying it was for just in case purposes, and kept driving. When I got to the store, I asked her if she had a condom preference. She said she'd seen, felt and tasted them all, so it was whatever. I told her not to steal my car and I would be back.
The store I was in was a shithole, and I grabbed a box of ribbed condoms for her pleasure and some Saran wrap. I walked up to the register and threw a ten dollar bill down and quickly left without my change. I was getting nervous, because I was about to have sex with one of god's impure creatures.
I seductively slid back into my car, and started for a motel. She was turned around, petting Bozwell, and he had the look in his eye that he might be back in the game. This man was a professional cock block, and he was working all of his magic. We didn't talk much, the hooker and I, so I pulled into the first motel I found. I quickly ran in and tried to rent a room. I was denied because I had ten dollars left, and they didn't rent by the hour. I marched back to the car and told her we needed to find an alley because I was not about to pay with a credit card and link myself back to this hell hole. She told me to drive one block down, and we could do it in the car.
We pulled up between two dumpsters in between two of the most run down buildings I had ever laid eyes on. She made me chain Bozwell to one of the dumpsters, which he was pissed about. He actually bit me as I hooked him to it. I told him he was a fucking dog and he needed to act like one. I climbed into the backseat, and invited her to climb on over the seat. I told her to take that skirt off, that I was going to work some tongue magic. She told me I only had thirty minutes left since I fucked around for so long, so I made haste.
Her vagina was like a roast beef sandwich. Like a sandwich that had been left outside for three days. I quickly reached down and grabbed the Saran wrap box. She saw me doing this, and upon realizing what I was doing, slapped the box out of my hand.
"You're not putting that on my vagina."
"Well, I'm not sticking my tongue anywhere near that thing."
"Well don't then, I don't fucking care."
"You are a hooker, you don't get a goddamn choice how I do business."
"Well you're a dopey ass white kid, so I think I do."
"Well then, we'll skip the foreplay then. Also, you're not a lot of fun."
"Kid, you're like the fifth guy I've fucked today, just roll with it."
I somehow managed not to puke, and started to take my pants off. I told her to put the condom on me, and she told me I needed to get erect first. I closed my eyes and thought of any girl who didn't look like she banged dudes for a living. Ellen Page got it going for me, and I decided it would be best to keep my eyes closed. I put my back against the door, and told her to hop on. She did, with absolutely no enthusiasm. She started grinding me, and I just quietly sat there, pretending I was anywhere else.
At this point I realized I had failed terribly at my plan. For the first time in my life, I faked an orgasm. I had to. It was like trying to have sex with outer space. Like all of it, at the same time. I just paid forty dollars to fake an orgasm with the dirtiest thing I've ever slept with. I moaned, awkwardly, and shivered with disgust. I've seen people in comas fake better orgasms.
She slid off me, and refastened her skirt. I opened my eyes, and she gave me what I thought might be a look of pity. She told me she would walk back, and she even put Bozwell back in my car. Bozwell gave me the look like he'd lick my genitals so I could get rid of the hooker stench, but instead I crawled into the front seat of my car and cried the entire drive back home.