Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting Read Online Free PDF

legs without noticing my strip tease.  His tongue is like  a machine.  It's a little hard to get into.  After a minute he stands up, abruptly, and asks what position I like.  He has one of those big cocks that make me nervous, so I'm thinking, anything but doggy style.  How about the side of the bed, I suggest, but he suggests me on top.  Perfect.  I smother that big cock in lube and climb on, and strangely it doesn't bang against my cervix at all.  Maybe because it's kind of bent.  I grind down into him, slow and sensual, and he bangs back with robotic jackhammer gyrations. 
     
    After a minute he asks for a change, and we roll over so he's on top.  Now he's even more like a jack hammer.  Whenever he sees me looking at him, he forms his mouth into a sort of growl, but the rest of the time he just looks sort of confused.  I want to ask how old he is, but it seems rude and strange.  Suddenly I realize: This is what women are talking about when they complain about men who've watched too much mainstream porn. 
     
    He signals for another change, doggy style.  This jackhammer thing could get old.  I start squeezing him with my cunt and he reaches down to grab my hair, but doesn't pull it. 
     
    “You can pull,” I say.  “Just take a big handful.”
     
    “That's okay,” he says.
     
    “Fuck, this is hot,” I gasp, one of my stock porntastic lines.
     
    He comes in grunts, and then stands up.  I pull him back down onto the bed, ask about his summer.  He says he has to get back to work.  I shrug.  What do you do?
     
    “I'm a physician's assistant.”  Interesting.  That makes two.  I can't imagine what kind of bedside manner he has, but maybe he's one of those administrative sort of assistants.  I think about showing him the huge bump on my leg and feigning helplessness.  Sometimes that's the only way men and women know how to connect. 
     
    But by now he is half-dressed.  He must not like me, I assume, and he's making this work excuse to leave after 17 minutes instead of having his whole hour with me.
     
    “How long are you in town?” he asks.
     
    “A couple more days.  Wanna do this again tomorrow?”
     
    “Hmm...maybe.  I'll call you if I have the time.”
     
    Maybe he does like me.  Weird.  He bolts out the door and I pick up the hundreds.  Fast money. What do they say about that?  Easy come, easy go?  The other day, one of my bush-living mentors was giving me a whole lecture about the evils of money and how it makes people change, especially if it is the wrong kind of money.  Then he shrugged and grinned so that his lips pulled in against his toothless gums.
     
    “Eh, money never stuck to me anyways.”
     
    Please, money, stick to me.  Stick to me and fucking breed and grow and multiply. 
     

HOMETOWN
     
     
     
    I really can't remember his name now.  I would have to look back at my email.  We'll call him Kevin.  He's a night stocker at a local store, and he wrote me a sweet note about truly sharing a lovely experience.  I can't call the store when it's closed, so he brings me his pay stub to show he really has a career that's not locking up pretty ladies.
     
    When I first see him my heart sinks – he's my little sister's age, bearded, tattooed.  In this town where everyone knows each other it's almost certain that someday I will run into him in a social situation.  Oh well.  It helps to be a hermit.
     
    His mouth tastes amazing, and he's a great kisser.  He does that thing where he sucks in my bottom lip. I love that thing.  Lately I've been reading explicit reviews from other states, (in Alaska law enforcement scares the shit out of everyone and reviews are never explicit) and I've resolved to offer more of a Porn Star Experience.  Great reviews always include references to great sloppy blow jobs.  So when he sits down on the bed, I rip a condom open with my teeth, which he thinks is awesome but it's really because my hand that's been on his cock is