Thursday, January 7, 2010

Who's The Real Whore?

Picture this; it won’t be difficult. Town on a Saturday night. About 1am. A girl leaves a club with a guy she met half an hour ago. She can’t remember his name but she never does. She thinks he’s quite a catch – but then, maybe that’s the alcohol affecting her judgement. Either way he seems fit now and he’ll be gone by the morning. She breaks a heel on the cobble pavement and falls into his arms. He pushes her to the floor and begins to kiss her ferociously. She asks him to fuck her now, and so he does. He doesn’t use a condom but they never do. In the morning she sort of remembers the feeling of someone inside her and smiles through her thumping headache, thinking, ‘that was a good night out!’.

Now look at my job. Girl lets a man into her house that she heard from only 24 hours ago. She doesn’t know him, but she’s stone cold sober so she can pick up anything unusual about his actions immediately. She phones a friend and makes sure he can hear her – ‘I’ll call you in an hour, promise.’ She hangs up and moves to the bed. He pushes her down and begins to kiss her ferociously. She asks if he wants to fuck her now, and he does. He uses a condom because they always must. In the morning she remembers all about it and smiles as she turns off the vibrator, thinking, ‘that was a good night’s work!”

[Via http://teencourtesan.wordpress.com]

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